Magnanimous
by cyropi
Summary: Voldemort’s latest plan threatens all Hogwarts, but only Harry, Ron and Hermione, along with a dubious ally, are willing to risk their lives to stop it… But as hate turns to love and old friendships are put to the test, is the risk too great? DHr.
1. Beginning

_Magnanimous Chapter 1: Beginning_

**Disclaimer:** All recognisable characters and places belong to J.K.Rowling. Plot is mine.

**With Thanks:** To Orchid, my amazing beta, who's spent a lot of her time making suggestions and improvements. To all my friends at the Fiction Net forums, especially Jean, who started the whole thing off, and my Weasley Twin, Georgina. To all those people in real life who put up with my writer's insanity, and manage to call me 'friend' in spite of it. To all those who read and reviewed my other works and gave me the courage to go on.

**Author's Note:** Yes, after a very long summer of rest and relaxation (read: laziness) I'm back at the keyboard and back writing fanfiction! This is **NOT** a sequel to Fire and Ice/Darkness and Light, but an entirely new story of it's own. Of course, I hope that all my old readers will come to love this as much as they did my older fanfics!

I've started a writing diary, which can be found by going to my profile and looking under homepage. It may sound boring, but if you want to find out all the details about how fast I'm writing, as well as getting sneaky quotes from upcoming chapters, go check it out!

And I think that's all I need to say. Oh, this takes place after Book 5 and **does** contain spoilers. 

Enjoy!

~*~

'Now, as you all know from your homework assignment, today we are going to attempt production of the Animus Potion. Although,' Snape paused, casting his usual disdainful glance at Neville, 'I would not expect many of you to succeed.'

It was a normal Thursday morning for the sixth year Potions class. The Gryffindors and Slytherins were carefully seated on opposite sides of the room, as usual, shivering in the winter air and thinking longingly of a steaming hot lunch. The dungeons were the coldest part of the castle at any time of the year, and the students could see their smoke-white breath curl into mist in front of their faces.

 Harry, Hermione and Ron were sitting as close to the back of the class as possible – under protest from Hermione, of course, but the boys had out-voted her. They began making notes as Snape proceeded to give a basic description of the potion in an impatient yet monotonous voice.

'Those of you who _did_ your homework will recall that this potion is designed to improve mental agility and induce feelings of peace and cooperation in those who drink it. The active ingredients are the eggshells and fresh venom of a Runespoor-'

'What the hell's a Runespoor?' Ron whispered to Hermione, who sighed in exasperation.

'Didn't you do your homework?' she replied irritably, before reciting. 'A Runespoor is a magical species of serpent with three heads, originating in Africa, commonly reaching a length of six or seven feet. It is distinctive in its patterning of bright orange with black stripes. The writings of Parselmouths who have kept and conversed with these creatures show that…'

'Alright, alright, too much information!' Ron replied, yawning and scribbling "Two-headed snake" on his parchment. 'It's too early in the morning to absorb all that stuff, Hermione.'

'I said it had three heads, not two. Honestly, Ron.' Hermione sighed, crossing out the word 'Two' with a neat stroke and carefully scribing 'Three' in its place As an afterthought, she added, 'And it's never too early in the morning to learn.' before returning to her note taking and studiously ignoring Harry's grin at such a typical comment.

'As you should have learnt,' Snape was saying, 'it is extremely difficult to procure Runespoor eggs on the common market, owing to their immense value and the rarity of Runespoors. You are fortunate that I myself keep one of these creatures in my office for such potions as this, and therefore you will be able to benefit immensely from making this potion, which, I assure you, will be included in your OWLs examination in a few months. The venom I have here was extracted from the Runespoor shortly before breakfast…'

Without warning, a searing pain split through Harry's scar. He gasped, wincing and pressing a hand to his forehead. Ron and Hermione turned to him, their looks of mild puzzlement turning to wide-eyes fear as they saw where his hand was.

'What is it, Harry?' Hermione whispered, her voice afraid. 'It's not your scar? It's not… _him_…?'

'I don't know…' Harry shook his head, frowning and rubbing his forehead. 'It just started hurting.' The pain reminded him of the time he'd burnt himself on a saucepan, making fried eggs for the Dursleys. Dull, but achingly persistent.

'Tell Snape.' Ron said, turning pale. 'He's a member of the Order, he'll understand… if your scar's hurting, it means something's going on. Maybe you should go to Dumbledore…'

'It's alright, really. It's only hurting a bit… Not like when he was really close, or angry.' Harry insisted. Furiously, he willed the pain to go away. He didn't want yet another scene. 'It's just… I don't know. He's probably just passing by Hogwarts or something… or maybe it's just a headache, maybe I'm imagining it…' 

Truthfully, he knew this was real. But the last time he'd felt something from Voldemort it had been a trick, a trap… and look what happened then…

'It's just a headache, I'm over reacting.' He replied, making himself drop his hand back to the table and pretend that nothing was the matter. His friends looked doubtful, and Hermione opened her mouth to speak, but at that moment Snape broke into their conversation.

'Anything I should know, Potter?' he asked, his dark eyes narrowed and his voice malicious. The summer had only served to make him hate Harry more, if such a thing were possible, and now loathing streamed off him in cold waves whenever he approached.

'Nothing, professor.' Harry replied firmly, by now quite exasperated. 'I have a headache. That's all.'

Snape glared once, a foul glare as though Harry were something filthy and low, and swept back to the front of the room. He spent as little time near Harry as possible, even at the cost of insulting him. Harry leant on the table, ignored the worried looks of his friends, and waited for his head to stop hurting.

'As this potion is extremely dangerous and difficult to make,' Snape snapped, regaining the classes' attention immediately, 'I shall be assigning you all partners. Now…' his eyes roamed the dingy room. 'Miss Granger with Miss Bulstrode…' he said silkily, smirking at the look on Hermione's face.

Glumly, Hermione went to join Millicent Bulstrode, who was sitting on the very back row and looked like she'd just swallowed a toad. The boys gave Hermione sympathetic looks, but they knew they would probably receive similarly horrible partners. Harry's 'headache' had put Snape in a fouler mood than usual.

'Mr. Longbottom with Mr. Crabbe… Mr. Weasley with Mr. Goyle…'

Ron gave Harry a regretful grimace and started grabbing his things. Harry sighed to himself, and waited for his turn. In the whole of the grey dungeon there was not one smile, as everyone was being paired with someone they hated. Some of the more malicious Slytherins were smirking, however. This was all fun to them.

'Mr. Potter…' Harry looked up, resigned to his fate. For a fleeting instant, Snape's eyes held an evil glint: it was a face Harry could imagine him wearing when he had been a Death Eater. 'Mr. Potter with Mr. Malfoy.'

Harry sighed quietly, massaged his forehead and quickly made himself stop as soon as he realised what he was doing. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Malfoy smirk, pick up his things, and swagger over to join him at the long table.

'Is Potty's head hurting then?' Malfoy asked, smirking and running his eyes over Harry's scar. 'Does poor ickle Potty want to go see the nursie?'

'Shut up, Malfoy.' Harry snapped, glowering. He rested his aching head in his hands and hoped it didn't look too suspicious. His scar began to throb, a dull, hate-filled, sickening throb. Malfoy smirked in reply and began methodically arranging his things on the table. Quill on the left, inkpot above it, parchment in front of him… 

Watching irritably, Harry frowned. Something was… strange. Malfoy looked even paler than usual, his skin almost appearing to glow in the dim light of the dungeon, and he didn't seem to have his usual cruel, self-assured arrogance about him. On the contrary, Harry thought as Malfoy glanced at his scar again, he looked… scared.

_Scared_? Harry snorted and told himself he was being ridiculous. Malfoy was never scared. Well, accept from the time they'd come across Quirrel in the forest in first year… but then there had actually been something to fear. There was nothing of that sort here…

But still… There was something in the way he was moving, something in the way he was acting… He couldn't put his finger on it, but something…

Since when did you give a damn about Malfoy? he asked himself. He was probably delusional, or something. Maybe he really was ill… or reading too much into things. Possibly Malfoy was ill. Even oh-so-perfect-worshipful Malfoys were prone to the common cold, he reminded himself…

And then, for the second time in as many minutes, he jumped.

_'I'm telling you, Alpha, we should have gone the other way. You're leading us deeper into the school, you idiot.'_

_'Yes, because the only way out is from deeper into the school. You do want to be free, don't you?'_

Voices. Distant voices, but clearly audible. Harry blinked, sitting up and frowning. 

'_Freedom, freedom, freedom. To smell the sweet air, to go where we please, no place in all the world where we cannot make our presence known_.'

This was a third voice, fainter than the others with a singsong tone. Harry's frown deepened, and he cast a sweeping glance around the class. No one else seemed to have heard them.

'Uh. Malfoy?' Harry asked. 'Can you hear voices?'

Malfoy turned to him with a derisory frown. 'Well, yes Potter. There are people around us talking, and I have a perfectly functional set of ears. Bit thicker than usual today, Potter. Spent too much time around the Weasel?'

Normally Harry would have hexed him for such an insult, but he was too preoccupied by the problem of the voices.

_'Yes, yes, Beta.'_ said the first voice. _'We'll be free soon enough… now, to get to the nearest exit…'_

'No, I mean other voices…' Harry said. 'There's three of them… they're talking about getting out of the school… escaping, or something…'

The look on Malfoy's face was comical, his translucent features lit with malicious glee. 'You're hearing voices now?' he asked incredulously. 'Well, I always knew you were potty, Potter. At last you admit it.'

Harry shook his head. 'I guess… maybe I'm ill or something…' he said, but without any assurance.

'Something I've known for four years, Potter.' Malfoy drawled, giving a smirk that somehow lacked its malice.

'Shut up, Malfoy, I'm serious.'

'So am I.'

Harry groaned and banged his head against the table. He listened carefully, but thankfully, the voices seemed to have gone for the time being.

Or not.

_'We go in here. I taste fresh air.'_

_'Idiot. There's human voices coming from that direction.'_

_'So? They're children's voices. We can just scare them off. No problem, Gamma.'_

Harry sat bolt upright. 'They're coming in here.' He said urgently. 'Whoever they are, they're coming in here.'

Malfoy gave him another look. 'Potter, could you please ignore the little voices in your head and start doing some work? That Jarvey hair needs adding to the venom, and then you need to watch it to make sure it doesn't explode…'

He was cut off by the sound of shattering glass, and Pansy Parkinson screaming.

The entire class looked towards the source of the noise. Pansy had her hands clapped over her mouth, her vial of venom shattered on the floor, staring wide-eyed at the door. A huge serpent, black and orange with three heads, was slithering through it, its three glistening pairs of eyes scanning the dungeon warily.

_'Told you this was a bad idea.'_ said the head on the furthest right, before surveying the room with a critical eye and opening its mouth wide, baring long, sharp fangs, and hissing.

There was pandemonium. Everyone other than Harry and Malfoy scrambled to get to the back of the class, as far away from the snake as possible.

'Well, looks like we solved the voices problem.' Malfoy said coolly, apparently unfazed by the huge Runespoor. 'What a pity, Potter. You aren't schizophrenic after all. And I was going to have such fun spreading that around.' He considered this. 'Maybe I will spread it around anyway.'

Harry blinked. 'Did you fail to notice the fact that there's this huge snake with very big fangs sitting in the middle of the floor hissing at us?'

'My father used to keep one.' He replied. 'They aren't vicious. It's only trying to scare us.'

While this conversation had been going on, Snape had drawn out his wand from a drawer in the desk, and was now carefully advancing upon the Runespoor. 'Stupefy!' he intoned, but the serpent, as quick as lightening, dodged the spell, which ricocheted off the wall and zoomed over the classes' heads. The two outermost heads turned their attention to Snape now, hissing violently. The middle head, however, acted differently.

_'We will fight for our freedom!'_ It declared. _'We will fight to the death, if need be, and care not how many we massacre in our bid for the golden glory of freedom! No more walls shall be ours, no more bars, no more chains to bind our bodies and souls in captivity. My brothers, we fight for freedom!'_

It would have been an impressive speech if the second head hadn't been writhing like a madman, flinging itself about in over-dramatic gestures and sending its soprano voice from the deepest tones it could reach to the highest in an instant. As it was, it was rather comical, and all Harry could do not to laugh.

Malfoy looked at him as though he were a madman. 'I don't see what's so funny. Our Potions teacher's about to get his leg bitten off.' He remarked, arching an eyebrow. 'However amusing you may find that, I don't think it's a good idea. Some of us actually like him, besides which, it'd be messy. I'd suggest that you talk to it.'

'What?'

'You're a Parselmouth, aren't you?' Malfoy pointed out. 'Tell it not to bite him.'

'I don't think it will listen to me… That middle head's ranting on about freedom and massacring people.' Harry frowned. Snape made another attempt to stun the Runespoor, which missed again and grazed the sleeve of Neville's robes.

'And you laughed at that?' Malfoy asked incredulously. 'You should become a Death Eater if you think that stuff's funny, Potter.' Strangely, his voice faltered on the last sentence.

'It was the way it was talking. Over-dramatic.' Harry replied irritably, before looking back at the Runespoor and sighing.

_'Leave him alone.'_ He hissed.

The serpent turned towards Harry at this interruption, and the first and third heads appeared to consider this. The second head had launched into a reedy and rather off key battle song.

_'Why?'_ asked the first head. _'He's the one who imprisoned us…'_

_'Well, it's still not right to bite him…'_ Harry replied uncertainly. _'Can't you just escape without hurting him?'_

The second head broke off the song to declare, _'We fight for Honour and Freedom! We fight to the death! It is far better to die a free serpent than live forever as a prisoner!'_

_'I apologise for Beta,' _said the third head, _'he's always like this. I think he's on drugs, if you ask me…'_

_'Eh… alright.'_ Harry replied, flummoxed by the odd conversation. _'But you could kind of… escape without revenge…'_

_'That would sacrifice our honour!'_ The second head, presumably Beta, replied. It raised itself up, broke into the chorus of its battle hymn, and then the whole snake keeled over and slumped on the ground. Snape had used Harry's distraction to hit the Runespoor with a Stunning spell.

Snape cast an irritable look around the class. 'There is no need to cower at the back like a bunch of frightened two year olds.' He snapped. 'Runespoors, as you should have read, are not vicious and will not attack unless provoked.'

No one was brave enough to point out that the third head had almost bitten his leg off.

'Miss Parkinson, get back over here and clean up that venom. Be careful when you do so as you may cut yourself on that glass and get venom into the wound. I suggest wearing gloves. The rest of you, get back to your work.' He levitated the snake with a quick, 'Mobilicorpus' and turned to take it back to its cage.

As he was about to go, however, he turned back to Malfoy and Harry. 'Five points to Slytherin, Mr. Malfoy, for not losing your head in a crisis.'

Harry got a dark glare. He hadn't expected anything else.

~*~

**Latin**: For those who've not read my other stories: I tend to use liberal amounts of Latin for spells e.t.c. This chapter had only one Latin reference – the Animus Potion. 'Animus' is a peculiar word, which can translate as mind, heart, soul, spirit, essence… you get the idea. Strangely enough, it's also part of the root of the title, Magnanimous. The other word in the root of the title is magnus, meaning great or large. So it means, basically, greathearted. For a more descriptive definition, refer to a dictionary.

Oh, and the Runespoor isn't just something I made up from nowhere. Its in Fantastic Beasts and Where To Find Them, the Comic Relief book from a few years back. Though I've never seen anyone use one, more's the pity… they have great potential. Which I intend to exploit :)

That's it for this chapter. Next chapter: things begin to get interesting…

Review!


	2. Losing

_Magnanimous Chapter 2: Losing_

**Disclaimer:** All recognisable characters and places belong to J.K.Rowling. Plot is mine.

With Thanks: To two amazingly amazing people without whom I would have been in serious excrement. These people are Orchid, my Beta, and Sophie, my Gamma (like a beta, but I couldn't resist the parallel with our dearest Runespoor!) My hard disc, on which an entire 25 pages were stored, died. This meant all that lovely work was gone. Luckily, Orchid and Sophie ploughed their inboxes and hard drives for bits of what I'd sent them, and between them they managed to recover all of it except for about 2 pages! I also lost the extremely detailed plan, but that's not too important, as I remember it anyway and still have the original notes.

Also thanks to my dad, who got me a new computer extremely quickly.

**Thanks for 13 reviews goes to: **willowfairy, willowwiccantara, Lulu81, ast*P, Kersten Chayne, Rebecca15, Solemn Rayne, mutsumi, aliveforever83, ChErRi)*(DrEaMeR, Emerald Raven, Flexi Lexi, jess!

**Author's Note: **I intend to update weekly. Which means you can look for a new chapter every Tuesday! I also have an updates list, which means you get a polite little message every time I update, complete with link to the new chapter, so it makes it a lot easier for you! If you want to join the list, just leave a note at the end of your review saying you'd like to join and giving your address. (If you were in the update list for Fire and Ice/Darkness and Light, you'll get e-mails for this one anyway.) Oh, and the link to my writing diary is in my profile, where you get updates and daily snippets of writing!

And I think that's all I have to say for this one.

Enjoy!

~*~

The Great Hall was flooded with the undecided brightness you get at noon, when the sun passes overhead and changes from the crisp light of a winter morning to the golden glow of afternoon. Noise filled every corner of the room as the starving students stuffed themselves, making the most of the opportunity to get away from lessons. Over their heads, the enchanted ceiling showed a clear, sharp winter sky, free from the threat of rain.

Hermione wasn't there, having told the boys that she wanted to practice the Rabula charm Flitwick  had taught them yesterday, assuring them that she'd come and get something to eat later. The boys, knowing the futility of arguing against her, had shrugged and given in.

'Snape was in a foul mood.' Ron commented, taking another massive bite of a chicken leg. 'Five feet of homework!'

'Yeah, I know.' Harry replied, looking glum. 'And we have that massive Care of Magical Creatures essay to do. That one on Chizpurfle control, remember?'

Ron groaned. 'Yeah, that's going to take forever. Too much research to do…'

'Well, I asked Hermione and she said she'd try looking in the section on keeping wizardry secret from Muggles.' he replied, biting a ripe tomato. 'Because they sometimes infest electrical things, see, and there's this whole department at the Ministry…'

Harry winced suddenly as another sharp pain flashed through his scar, as though a knife had been plunged into his head. Ron looked up from his plate and frowned.

'Is your scar _still_ hurting?'

Grimly, Harry nodded. 'Just ignore it.' He muttered. 'It's not going to be anything important…'

'It could be He-Who-' Ron pulled himself together. 'I mean, it could be… Voldemort…'

Harry bit into a large piece of potato determinedly. 'Look, even if it is I'm not going to do anything. Not after last time…'

Ron's face fell momentarily at the memory, but he set his jaw determinedly. 'I guess… But you should still…'

'I should nothing.' Harry snapped. 'I'm not going to do the same thing twice, alright?'

''But…' Ron stopped himself, sighing. 'Look, you don't have to do anything. But even if Voldemort's trying to control you… don't you think Dumbledore should know about it?'

A sudden weariness came over Harry: weariness at this discussion, at Ron, at everything. He didn't want to argue any more. 'Alright.' he gave in. 'I'll go tell him. No more than that.'

But just as Harry was about to rise from the table, Professor McGonagall raced in from the main entrance, almost running – most unlike her – and was followed by many pairs of curious eyes as she hurried to the staff table. She didn't bother to sit down, but went straight to Dumbledore, with whom she had a hurried conversation. Dumbledore's face became paler and paler. Struggling to hear, Harry could make out only tiny snatches –'Are you sure?' 'I don't know how he's doing it…' 'I don't know, I came straight to you as soon as I realised something was wrong…' 'Everyone, I don't know, but we have to find out what it is!'

After a minute, Dumbledore got out of his chair and he and Professor McGonagall left the Hall as quickly as she had entered. Harry turned to Ron and frowned.

'What was that all about?'

Ron shrugged, taking a bite of pie. 'Dunno… couldn't hear much.' he chewed thoughtfully. 'It must have been really important… I've never seen McGonagall move so fast!'

'Think someone's ill or something?' Harry asked. 'You know, got into a nasty scrape of some sort…'

'Nah, that's Madam Pomfrey's job, not Dumbledore's…' Ron shook his head. 'I reckon it must be someone breaking rules. Hope it's not someone from Gryffindor; we don't need to lose any more points…' Snape, in his temper, had deducted about twenty points from Gryffindor house over the course of the lesson.

'Yeah. Hope it's a Slytherin.' Harry grinned, casting a glance over to Slytherin table. As he did so, something caught his eye that made him frown: Draco Malfoy, usually full of arrogance and in such a public area, was sitting on his own and moodily savaging an innocent carrot. Something was definitely wrong with him…

'Harry? You there?' His attention was drawn back to the Gryffindor table by Ron, who was waving a hand in front of his face and staring bemusedly at him. 'You were staring at Malfoy.'

'Huh? Oh… oh yeah. There's something weird about him…' Harry shook his head. 'Do you see it too or am I just imagining things?'

'What's weird about him? Apart from the fact that he's a blond-haired ferret with sawdust for brains and a membership in the Young Death Eater's Association?' Ron asked, shooting a dark look in his direction.

'I know, but… Well, just look at him. Normally he's the centre of attention and making insulting remarks about… well, everyone in earshot. But today…' They both looked over to where Malfoy had just snapped irritably at Goyle.

'I guess he is acting weird.' Ron shrugged. 'Maybe he's sick. I hope he's sick. He could miss some classes. Imagine, the joy of being Malfoy-free…'

'Yeah, I guess…' Harry shrugged. His mind was drawn away from this by another searing wave of pain through his scar: it took a lot of mental effort to hide it from Ron. He didn't want to get into that again.

The doors flew open again, and everyone looked towards them with great interest, wondering if McGonagall and Dumbledore were back. But it was only Hermione, although she looked just as flustered as McGonagall had a few minutes ago. She raced in and sped to the table.

'Harry, Ron!' she cried out, sitting down hastily in a seat beside them. Her eyes were wide, and her face pale. 'The… something's wrong… I don't know…'

'Hermione, Hermione, calm down!' Harry told her firmly, alarmed by her panic. 'What is it?'

She gulped down a deep breath, obviously trying to pull herself together. 'Watch.' she said, her voice more level but still wobbling, and pulled out her wand. With a perfect swish-and-flick movement from first year Charms, she aimed at Ron's glass of orange juice and intoned, 'Wingardium Leviosa.'

Nothing happened.

'I don't get it, Hermione.' Ron frowned, squinting at the glass. 'I don't see anything…'

'Exactly…' she replied, biting her lip. 'I can't do anything. I've been trying for ages… I can't do a single spell…' Her eyes filled with tears, and she looked like she was about to cry. 'Do you think it's because I'm a… I'm a… Muggleborn?'

'No, no, that's a stupid thing to think!' Ron told her, putting a hand on her shoulder and trying to calm her. 'That's something Malfoy would think. Try it again.'

'I've tried it over and over…' she sniffed, but obligingly did it again. Nothing happened.

'Maybe your wand's broken.' Harry offered hopefully. 'Here, try mine…' he pulled his own out of his bag and handed it to her. 'I know you're not supposed to be able to get as good a reaction with another wizard's wand… but try it.'

Hermione nodded and waved the wand at the glass again. 'Wingardium Leviosa!' she cried, with desperation in her voice, but again there was nothing, not even a ripple.

'Don't be upset, it just means that you can't get any result from my wand. Or maybe my wand's broken too. Let me try.' Harry took his wand back and attempted to perform the same spell, again with no result. 'See? Both our wands must be broken.'

Hermione let out a little sob. Ron pulled out his own wand and handed it to her. 'Try again with mine.'

Nothing.

He frowned and took it back. 'That's strange…' he mused. 'All three of our wands at once?' He tried the spell himself with the same result.

Harry tried to console Hermione. 'Maybe you're under a spell. I bet it's Malfoy or something… Could anyone have cursed you lately?'

Hermione sniffed, and was about to answer, but the door slammed loudly at that moment and this time it really was Dumbledore, striding to the front with a worried look on his face and fear in his eyes. He mounted the platform and turned to face the students. As if on cue, the whole Hall fell silent.

'Students of Hogwarts, may I ask a few minutes of your lunchtime?' he asked, his face unusually grave. 'I need you all to perform a spell… Any spell. Just get out your wands and cast a spell.'

Harry, Ron and Hermione exchanged a look. All three picked up their respective wands and, along with the rest of the Hall, tried to cast a spell.

Not one spell worked.

The Hall filled with gasps and horrified whispers; Dumbledore hung his head. 'Then it is as I feared.' he sighed. 'The school is under the influence of the Aculux curse, a curse which encloses a given area and robs all inside it of their magical powers.' Shock filled the Hall. Dumbledore looked upwards, his blue eyes piercing, the silence absolute. 'It can be stopped. However… if we remain within the field for three days or more, the effects become… permanent.'

~*~

At first glance, the Gryffindor common room looked the same as normal. The fireplace held its usual crackling, glowing flames, casting warmth and light over the luxurious red and gold furnishings. The sofas were thronged with students of all ages, sitting in their customary places with their usual friends.

But look again. Instead of the usual chatter, laughter and complaints leaping like the flickering flames, there was melancholy, semi-silence. The only conversation was stilted, in quiet, despairing tones. The faces, normally brimming with life and smiles, were now white, drawn and stiff, and all smiles were weak and half-hearted. The inhabitants of the paintings and tapestries that thronged the walls, normally lively and animated, were huddled together in one of the larger frames, looking over the common room with worried eyes.

'Orchideous.' Ron waved his wand again, still trying his hardest to do magic out of some vague and random hope. He sighed. 'Orchideous!'

Disgusted by the lack of any reaction whatsoever, he threw his wand down on the table beside him. 'Oh, why am I even bothering? This is hopeless!'

'Don't give up hope.' Hermione advised, looking glum. She had a Muggle fiction book open on her lap, the firelight picking out the almost-hidden words of the title: 'Stranger in a Strange Land, by Robert A. Heinlein'. However, she'd been staring distractedly at page 271 for at least fifteen minutes. 'The teachers are going to talk about it…'

'I guess.' Ron sighed. 'I just wish we knew something… It's the not being able to do anything I hate. Screator!'

This spell, which should have caused Harry to clear his throat noisily, had a predictable lack of effect. Harry merely looked up from the fire, blinked a bit, and stared at the furnishings instead.

'I don't want to do anything.' Harry said, quietly but firmly, not looking up.

'Why not? I mean…' Ron was cut off by an angry glare from Hermione, who mouthed, 'Remember last time?' at him. Ron quickly got the hint, and shut up.

There were a few seconds of uncomfortable silence.

'We don't need to do anything.' Hermione said. 'The teachers are going to do it all. There is absolutely nothing for us to do whatsoever.'

Harry still didn't look up. 'I guess we at least solved the problem of why my scar was hurting.' he said, trying to mask the bitterness he felt. 

'Does it still hurt?' Ron asked without much curiosity.

'Actually…' Harry frowned thoughtfully, 'It hasn't hurt at all since lunchtime.'

Ron and Hermione looked puzzled at this piece of information. 'But that doesn't make sense…' Hermione said slowly. 'Wouldn't Voldemort stay close to the spell? After all, Dumbledore and the rest of the staff are going to end up doing something…'

'Yeah… I don't get that either.' Harry admitted. Any speculation on the matter was cut off, however, by the approach of Professor McGonagall. The recent events had left her face looking grey and even more lined than usual; her eyes bore the burdens of responsibility. When she spoke, her voice held only the remnants of her stern, clipped tone.

'Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger, a word if you please.' she asked. 'The teachers are holding a meeting about the… recent developments… and as such, the Prefects are in positions of responsibility. Now, we don't expect anything to go much amiss over the course of the meeting… but if anything does, the meeting is in my office. Come only if it's urgent.'

Both Ron and Hermione nodded. 'You can depend on us, Professor.' Ron said, glad simply to have something to do that could help.

'I'm sure I can, Mr. Weasley.' She replied, with a small smile that faded quickly. 'I only wish we could be as sure of some of the other houses…'

'What do you mean?' Harry asked with a frown. McGonagall looked reluctant.

'Well, I suppose it doesn't matter if I tell you… One of the Slytherin prefects has gone missing. Draco Malfoy. Along with a few others, but it means Slytherin house is a prefect short… In one of the other houses it wouldn't matter, but a few of the Slytherins have, shall we say, disreputable backgrounds. I know you think badly of him … but Dumbledore gave him the position for a reason, you know.' 

McGonagall sighed and got to her feet. 'I've wasted too much time chatting: I need to go and tell the other Gryffindor Prefects and then get to the meeting. Now, if anyone wants to leave the common room they have to go in groups of three or more, and no one is to leave the building. Alright?'

Ron and Hermione nodded their assent, and McGonagall left them. The three friends looked at each other, eyes wide.

'Malfoy's gone missing!' Ron exclaimed. 'I should have known it… slimy ferret!'

'It's not surprising really.' Harry said with weariness in his voice. 'Can you imagine Lucius Malfoy letting his _precious_ son become a Squib? They probably expel Squibs from the family. No, no, I'm being too kind. They probably burn them at the stake.'

Ron started suddenly. 'Did you hear something?' he asked, looking around in confusion. 

'Like what?'

'Like… a voice or something…' Ron was now staring wildly at points in thin air. 'I didn't hear what it said… sounded angry though.'

Hermione frowned. 'I didn't hear anything.' She shrugged. 'Are you sure you're alright?'

'Yeah, I'm alright…' Ron settled back down. 'Must be imagining things… too worried. I wish I knew what was going on… eavesdrop on that meeting or something.'

'We aren't going to do anything.' Harry said. 'We aren't going to go racing off on another adventure again!'

The silence was practically deafening.

'We wouldn't be getting into danger, Harry.' Ron wheedled. 'Just… finding out what's going on and what they're going to do about it. That's all.'

'I don't want anything to do with this.' Harry was adamant.

'And we're supposed to be staying here. We're Prefects. We're supposed to be responsible.' Hermione protested, glaring pointedly at Ron's badge.

Ron's face took on a pleading expression. 'There are four other prefects, Hermione… And Harry, I promise you we won't do anything. I just want to know what the teachers are planning to do. How can that hurt anyone?'

Harry's face flickered as a brief internal struggle occurred between his firm dislike of doing things that could get people hurt and his natural curiosity. 'Alright,' he said eventually, 'We'll go listen in. But nothing more!'

Ron grinned. 'Thanks, Harry. Hermione, are you in?'

She sighed huffily. 'I guess I have to be, as we're only allowed out of this tower in threes.'

'Great!' Ron was practically beaming, and it caused his friends some comfort that at least what they were going would make him happy. 'Harry, go get the Invisibility Cloak.'

Harry heaved himself up off the sofa and headed up the stairs to the boys' dormitory. Ron and Hermione awaited his return with impatience.

After five minutes, they were starting to get worried. Their eyes focused constantly on the top of the stairs, waiting for Harry to come back. But there was no sign of anyone whatsoever. Time dragged on, crawling slowly.

Another five minutes later, Ron couldn't keep quiet anymore. 'What's taking him so long?' he wondered aloud.

'I've no idea.' Hermione replied, fidgeting. 'Do you think we should go up and see?'

Ron nodded his approval, getting up off the sofa, and together with Hermione practically ran up the stairs to the boys' dormitory.

The room was dark, but a flickering light at one end indicated Harry's presence. As they got closer, they found Harry digging through his trunk, using a lit candle to examine the contents while trying not to drip wax on his things. Random things were strewn across the floor, where he had thrown them carelessly.

'It's not here.' He said urgently. 'The Invisibility Cloak. It's gone.'

'What?' Ron gasped incredulously, dropping to his knees and rifling through the trunk with Harry. 'But… it can't be!'

'It is.' He said grimly, standing up. 'I've looked all over. And I know I didn't leave it at the Dursleys, because we used it to sneak out to Hagrid's hut on his birthday, remember?'

Hermione frowned. 'Did you leave it out there?' she asked, knowing perfectly well he hadn't but asking anyway.

'No, I remember bringing it back… we were under it then, remember? I put it right here.' He indicated a spot in his trunk. 'Now it's gone.'

'That's weird…' Ron said, straightening up from the trunk and frowning. 'But that means someone must have stolen it…'

'Exactly.' Harry nodded. 'But who? Only we know about it.'

'It's strange…' Hermione said, looking worried. 'And it means we can't go and eavesdrop.'

'There has to be a way…' Ron said, looking downcast. 'There was this book I read once, this Muggle book Dad had just disenchanted – someone put a Confunding Hex on it, can you imagine – and they were eavesdropping in there. They used the ventilation system in this building…'

'There's a ventilation system around McGonagall's office, but it's far too small to get into.' Hermione shook her head. 'Just basically gaps in the walls to prevent damp… you'd have to be tiny to get in there, like a snake.'

_Like a snake... _

'One minute…' Harry said, the spark of a plan growing in his mind. 'A snake. A snake could get into those gaps…'

'Yeah, but we aren't snakes.' Ron pointed out moodily. 'And it's not like one could tell us what…' His sentence faded out as he realised what Harry was thinking of. 'But it could talk to _you_!'

'Oh Harry, that's genius!' Hermione exclaimed, impressed. 'But where do we get a snake?'

'Not a snake.' Harry replied, grinning. 'A Runespoor.'

~*~

**Notes**: The Chizpurfles mentioned at the beginning of the chapter were stolen from Fantastic Beasts. 'Stranger in a Strange Land' by Heinlein, the book Hermione was reading, is an actual book and happened to be lying on my desk at the time of writing. It's a good book. Go read it.

**Latin:** 'Rabula', which was mentioned briefly as the charm Hermione was practicing, is the Latin word for 'wrangling lawyer'. No, I haven't a clue what the 'Rabula' charm would actually do. Ideas welcomed, especially funny ones.

'Aculux' is a mash of 'acutus' and 'lux', or 'sharp light'. You'll first see why in chapter… 4, I think it is.

'Screator' is Latin for 'person who clears their throat loudly'. What kind of society would actually need a word for that, I don't know… But thus it stands.

The other two spells used (Wingardium Leviosa and Orchidaeous) were both from the books.

**Other:** And lo, the plot beginneth… So, where did the Invisibility Cloak go? What are the teachers planning to do? Will all the students of Hogwarts lose their magic, or will Voldemort's evil scheme be stopped in time?

Well, you'll have to wait for next week, won't you? Oh, and review. Review or suffer indescribable torture…


	3. Spying

_Chapter 3 – Spying_

**Disclaimer:** It all belongs to J.K.Rowling, apart from plot.

**With thanks:** To Orchid, my Beta, who's still fabulous. Also Sophie, my Gamma, who's not only fabulous but a birthday girl to boot. Happy 16th, Sophie! Now give me cake.

**Thanks for 26 reviews goes to:** willowfairy, mutsumi, Xtreme Nuisance, Hp1fan, jules37, CheRrI)*(DrEaMeR, Emerald Raven, Flexi Lexi, Rebecca15, willowwiccantara, Solemn Rayne, Saotoshi, aliveforever83!

**Authors Note:** Chapter three, on time and waiting to be read!

I have been behind with my writing of Magnanimous. Which is due in part to being ill over the weekend, in part to getting the new computer sorted, in part to school, in part to the rabid plot bunnies that are chewing on my ears (come on, inspiring me with two ideas while I'm working on Mag. is unfair!) and in part to laziness. However, this is why I wrote 5 chapters in advance. So I could be lazy and subject to natural disasters.

Anyway, I shall leave my rambling there. This is quite an important chappie… lots of Thing Happening. So enjoy!

~*~

Snape's dungeons were even darker than usual, the twisting passages unlit and the stone ice to the touch. Magic normally kept the torches burning and provided some semblance of warmth in the drab corridors, but since the attack of Voldemort, these spells had failed, leaving the dungeons unlit and bitterly cold.

It was odd, Harry reflected, how some magical things carried on working even inside the field of the Aculux curse. The portraits adoring the walls, for example, were as alive as ever, and the ghosts still hovered round, albeit with the same glumness that afflicted the whole castle. The staircases still moved, and the wards against entry were still in place.

Nothing else.

And so, the corridor was dark, almost pitch black. Their only light was the candle Harry had used in his fruitless search for the Invisibility Cloak – thankfully, Dean Thomas had developed a slight pyromania over the summer, and his bedside chest held a cornucopia of matches, candles and lighters.

Every shadow led to infinity: there was no way of telling where the darkness ended unless the candle was shone near them, and bringing it to one side only increased the darkness on the other. Their feet were near invisible, just pale phantoms in the darkness. The three unconsciously drew closer together, closer to the others, the sole evidence that there was a world of light and warmth and life outside this madhouse of darkness and corridors.

'Are we nearly there yet?' asked Ron, his breath turning to mist in the frozen air.

'This _was_ your idea, Ron…' Hermione pointed out. 'We should be close, though. It's not that far to Snape's office after the portrait of Ulric the Oddball…'

'This should be it now.' Harry replied, as they reached a seemingly plain and ordinary door. 'It shouldn't be locked… the locking charms were all broken when the Aculux was cast…'

Hermione shivered at the mention of the curse, and even Ron turned pale, though no one could see in the dim light. Even the mention of the name reminded the three of them of the tremendous peril they stood in…

Harry turned the door handle, and true to expectations, it opened easily. The three of them shuffled inside, Harry holding the candle in front of him so they could see into the room.

Snape's office, as might be expected, was decorated in Slytherin colours; a deep, dark green and a silver that was almost grey. The furnishings were sparse; a desk had pride of place, parchment, quill and inkpot ready to use, all else tidied away. There were a few bookshelves in dark mahogany wood, stocked with rather ominous-looking books of potions. Strangely enough, there was also a thriving spider plant on one shelf.

And of course, standing on a small table, the Runespoor's cage.

'Go on, Harry.' Ron said, nudging him towards it. 'Go talk to it.'

Stepping forwards almost nervously, Harry cleared his throat and hissed, '_Hello?_'

_'We're sleeping.'_ hissed a random head, the third, from what Harry could tell. '_Go away_.'

'_To sleep, perchance to dream… to dream of fairytales… to dream of life… to dream of freedom…'_ added the second head, sounding already half asleep itself.

Harry licked his lips nervously. '_We want to offer you something…_' he told them. '_We need your help… And in return, we can set you free…'_

All three heads perked at this offer, eyes opening and swivelling to regard him. '_Then talk, human…_' said the first head.

'_The teachers are holding a meeting in an office, and we want to know what's going on._' Harry explained quickly. '_There's a ventilation system that leaves gaps between the walls…we couldn't get in there, but you could. So we want you to go and spy on them, then come back and tell us what you've heard. And then we'll help you escape._'

'_Spying!_' said the second head in an excited hiss. '_The drama, the intrigue, the excitement! Plots and plans, secrets and whispers like velvet…_'

'_Yes, yes._' The first head replied absently, '_but what of the plan? Do we do it?_'

'_Of course. Only an idiot would ask that. We lose nothing, we gain everything._' The third head said quite cruelly.

'_Then we accept._' The first head declared, causing Harry to beam with relief, before turning to the patient Ron and Hermione.

'They'll do it.' Harry told them, having to consciously stop himself from hissing. 'They like the idea.'

Hermione and Ron smiled as well. 'Brilliant!' Ron grinned.

'And thank you all, very much, er… what are their names?' Hermione asked, realising she didn't know them and floundering in her sentence.

'_My name is Gamma._' said the third head. '_I'm the smart one._' This earned him a baring of the first head's fangs and an angry hiss. '_My annoyed fellow head is Alpha, and this excuse for a middle head is Beta._'

'Alpha, Beta and Gamma, from left to right.' Harry reported back to Hermione, who frowned.

'Greek letters?'

Ron shrugged. 'Hey, Snape named them. Would you really expect him to name them Tom, Sammy and Alfred?'

'Good point.' Harry shrugged, going to the cage and undoing the lid. _'Are you ready?'_ He called through the top.

_'Freedom's light shines ever brighter upon us, and into the light we boldly go!'_ Beta replied, which Harry took to mean yes.

~*~

_The air tasted strange here. It tasted of dirt and decay, of forgotten places and misplaced dreams. Beta was singing shrilly, songs of suspense and excitement, of heroes and saving the world, the dramatized, Hollywood-James Bond version of spying - the dream of espionage._

_Alpha and Gamma, more grounded in reality then their fellow head, snapped at him to shut up._

_Light ahead, a hazy mist shining into their tunnel of darkness. They slithered towards it, eager now, for the sooner they heard this the sooner they were free. Gamma had suggested simply ignoring the humans' request and escaping by their own means, but Beta had set up such a racket about sacred honour and trust that they'd gone along with it._

_They drew level with the grille, and peered down into the room. Yes. This tasted right. Three pairs of eyes glistened as they watched the proceedings, listening intently, tongues flickering to taste the air, observing and spying and all the while feeling the sweet, sweet freedom they craved draw nearer._

_So soon…_

~*~

As broom closets went, this was quite a large one. Shelves ringed the walls, brimming with strange bottles of cleaning potions, their labels yellowed and peeling, the glass caked with grime. Boxes littered the floor, dates and labels scrawled on in thick black script. Hermione had cautiously opened one, and found it to be brimming with old NEWT papers, saved to give students some practice. Now, deemed too old to be useful, they had been stored away here, forgotten.

'This is actually really interesting.' Hermione mused, flicking a page over. 'They have things on here that aren't even on the curriculum now, and they don't even mention some of the most common spells we're taught…'

'How can you be interested in exams at a time like this? Ron asked incredulously, leaning on a dusty stack of papers. 'How can you be interested in exams at any time, for that matter…'

The stack of parchment wobbled dangerously, unbalanced by Ron, who stepped back in alarm, trying in vain to steady the precarious pile. It overbalanced, an avalanche of parchment crashing down with the crackling, slithering sound of paper on paper, sending a vast cloud of dust into the air. Ron stepped well back, looking guilty.

'Well, that was clever.' Hermione said irritably. 'I just hope no one heard that. If Filch knew about this he'd murder you, Ron!'

'Good thing he doesn't know then, isn't it?' Ron replied grumpily.

Some of the dust began to settle, the majority of it hanging in the air in a thick cloud. From the general direction of the debris came a loud sneeze.

'Bless you.' Ron mumbled distractedly. Hermione looked up from the 1972 version of the History of Magic test with a frown.

'Why did you say bless you to yourself?' she asked.

Ron shook his head. 'What? It was Harry that sneezed, I said it to him. Wasn't it you, Harry?'

'No, I thought it was you…' Harry replied. 'I didn't sneeze, and it didn't sound like Hermione, so that only leaves you.'

Ron looked puzzled, casting a dubious look towards the dingy corner. 'No, it wasn't me… I think I'd have noticed.'

'Well it wasn't me.' Hermione said firmly. 'And it was a male kind of sneeze, so it had to be one of you two.'

'I guess…'

The discussion was cut off abruptly by Harry, who grinned suddenly and said, 'I can hear the Runespoor coming back.'

Sure enough, within a minute it had slithered out of the small ventilation hole and sat before them, curling itself into a coil on the filthy floor. Beta was still singing freedom songs, but was threatened at so violently by Gamma that he stopped mid-note.

'_What did they say?_' Harry hissed eagerly. '_What are they going to do? Did they say anything about how the spell works?_'

Alpha took a breath. '_The old one with the long chin-hair spoke of what the spell does, yes. The spell does not affect permanent magic like your living pictures and moving steps, but it stops people casting any new spells. After three days inside the spell, it becomes permanent. The old one had a picture of how it works…'_

He paused in his description to draw a diagram in the dust, his tail making quick work of reproducing what he had seen. A large circle with an H for Hogwarts in the middle. Around this, a triangle. From each point came another line, which ended in another small circle.

'_This school is in the middle._' Gamma took over the retelling, using his tail to point at the relevant places in the diagram as he explained.. _'The triangle represents the field of the spell, the area within which it works. The three circles are towers, the control centres. The master tower is the important one, the one where the spell is powered, where it can be stopped._'

Harry paused to interpret the diagram to Ron and Hermione. '_So they're going to turn off the power source?_' he guessed. '_Who are they sending?_'

Alpha took over again, looking distressed. '_There was much noise. Much noise, much shouting. We tasted anger. We didn't like it._' He told them, looking as regretful as a snake can. '_The old one says it is madness to try it. He says that trying to turn off the tower would have a terrible effect on the person who attempts it. He does not know what the effect is, but he knows it is dangerous. He will not sacrifice anyone, he says, so they cannot try to turn it off._'

Harry translated. There was a pause as the three of them realised the implications.

'So they're not going to do anything?' Ron spluttered. 'They're just going to sit there and let us all become Squibs?'

Beta attempted to warble the beginning of some kind of epic song, presumably on the theme of losing in battle. Gamma snapped some extremely rude words at him, whereupon he stated sulking.

'_The old one says they must find some way to escape the field.'_ Alpha recounted. '_But the others say this is impossible, that there are minions of The Dark Lord all around the castle. They say many will die. Then there is much arguing, much fighting. It all tastes wrong. We did not like it. We were glad when everyone left._'

'I don't believe this.' Ron shook his head in amazement as soon as Harry had related the Runespoor's words to them. 'Everyone in this school is in danger of losing their powers and Dumbledore's going to do _nothing_?'

'Not nothing, Ron.' Hermione pointed out. 'They'll probably think of some way to escape…'

'Brilliant choice.' He said sarcastically. 'Either most of the wizard kids in England lose their magic, half the school dies trying to escape, or one person gets hurt stopping the spell. And they decide to get half the school killed by sending us straight to the Death Eaters. Genius.'

'Ron, calm down.' Harry said shortly. 'Dumbledore's probably right… we don't know what will happen to the person who turns off the power source. And they'll get us out of here somehow…'

'Come on, Harry. This is Voldemort we're talking about.' Ron exploded. 'Do you really think he's going to set up this spell just to leave us a nice little back door to escape from? If we try, he's going to kill as many of us as we can while we're defenceless and can't use magic. It'll be a bloody _massacre_!'

Harry shrugged. 'They'll come up with something. Besides, there's nothing we can do.'

'Yes there is!' Ron protested. 'Look, all the years I've been your friend you've never said something like that. You're always the one who's willing to fight to stop Voldemort, to risk it all to stop whatever he's doing. This could be the worst thing yet, and you just sit there and say we can't do anything?'

Hermione glared at Ron, then spoke up. 'Ron, he's probably right.' She said. 'We don't even know which of the three towers is the master tower. We don't even know where any of the towers are. And even if we did, we don't know how to turn it off when we get there.'

'We could do research.' Ron pointed out, turning to her with a pleading look. 'In the library, it could be in one of those books… And if we find it we can stop it. We have to try…'

'I guess… you're right.' She sighed, shooting a worried look at Harry. 'We can't just let this happen… And we may as well research it.'

'No.' Harry said, quiet but firm, with a fierce look in his emerald eyes. 'We aren't doing anything. This isn't our problem to solve. The teachers will work it out, and I'm not doing anything.'

'Harry…' Ron was momentarily speechless. 'The teachers will end up getting half the school killed. There's no way out of here without passing through Voldemort's barriers. Do you really think he's going to let us escape without a fight? He'll kill as many of us as he can. And I won't let that happen.'

'WHAT ELSE CAN YOU DO?' Harry shouted, losing his temper. The Runespoor gave an agitated hiss, curling up to get away from the rapidly building anger in the room. 'Let the teachers work it out, because I'm not going to get myself or anyone else in danger again!'

'Harry…' Hermione interjected, trying to calm him, but Harry ignored her.

'The last time I did that, Sirius _died_.' He said, voice low but angry, eyes alive with pain. 'I won't let it happen again.'

'You utter _idiot_.' Ron hissed, his voice low. 'When Sirius died it was because you were thick enough to race off into danger based on a dream. You knew those dreams came from Voldemort! You knew he was able to plant them there if he wanted to, you knew that, and you still raced off without bloody _thinking_!'

'Ron, stop it!' Hermione pleaded, looking white, but was again ignored. The Runespoor was hissing again, looking upset.

'This is nothing like that! We have to go and do this, because if we don't Voldemort will end up killing half the school or eradicating all our powers, and either way, we can't let him get away with it. And if we can find the information, where the master tower is and how to turn it off, we can stop him. Isn't that worth the risk?'

Harry's face was very pale, as if no blood ran through his skin at all. His expression was blank, but his eyes were raging as though fires burned beneath the surface.

There was a moment of absolute and utter silence. Harry's anger simmered, his ears ringing with Ron's words. Ron realised what he'd said, and his face began to tint red. Hermione watched with a worried frown.

And then a new voice split the proceedings. A young, male, drawling voice that was all too familiar.

'If I may interrupt this dramatic scene with something of historic proportions,' said Draco Malfoy, pulling Harry's Invisibility Cloak off his head, 'A momentous event has just taken place. I actually agree with a _Weasley_.'

~*~

**Notes:** What? You actually expected me _not_ to leave you on a cliffie?

Hehehehe…

Well, at least you know where Draco vanished to, and you can probably guess that he's not going to be sitting out of the narrative much any more. Which I'm sure most of you will be grinning in delight at. Of course, he could only be hanging around in the narrative for a few more lines before he gets brutally murdered by Ron, whereupon Harry uses his innards to kill first Ron and then himself, and the entire last 10 or so chapters of the story consist of Hermione being angsty.

But that would be no fun.

So what will really happen? You'll have to wait till next week, of course! You could spend some of that time reviewing. Look at it this way: there are 10080 minutes in a week. A review takes approx. 2 minutes. So, if you left one review, it would take 0.01984126984126984126984126(recurring)% of the time between this chapter and the next to review. Rounded up, that's only 0.02% of the time.

Won't you spare 0.02% of your time to review?


	4. Daring

_Magnanimous Chapter 4 – Daring_

**Disclaimer: **Plot is mine. The rest is all JK's.****

**Thanks for 50 reviews goes to:** mutsumi, Saotoshi (x3), seashore, Rebecca15, Emerald Raven, Kersten Cheyne, Solemn Rayne, icemonkey, Vfoxy713, Oz1, ast*P, Xtreme Nuisance, Hp1fan,  willowwiccantara, aliveforever83, Chiinoyami-chan, willowfairy, Flexi Lexi, KrystyWroth, simrun crazychick-1027, Jade-Jaganashi.

And special mentions to the two of my friends who reviewed under pseudonyms. You know who you are… Thanks also to the friend who reviewed with her real name!

**Author's Note:** This should have been up last night. It would have been up last night. It was sitting there, all nice and neat, ready for me to add a note and post it up… and then ff.net decides to bully me. With one of those random error messages which look like a monkey got loose on a keyboard.

Anyway. Apologies for the lateness, it shouldn't happen again, so long as the site doesn't die on me.

The e-mail update list is still and will always be accepting new submissions. Just leave your e-mail in a review and ask me to add it.

This Friday is BCG injection day. Cross your fingers for my test showing a positive result so I don't have to have the needle! Remember – if I do, my arm may hurt so much I can't write. Which is bad. Very bad.

And I think that's all. There's a recap at the beginning of the last chapter, because I cut off in a weird place. Enjoy!

~*~

_And then a new voice split the proceedings. A young, male, drawling voice that was all too familiar._

_'If I may interrupt this dramatic scene with something of historic proportions,' said Draco Malfoy, pulling Harry's Invisibility Cloak off his head, 'A momentous event has just taken place. I actually agree with a Weasley.'_

~*~

All three of them gaped in shock at the shadowed figure of Malfoy, leering at them in the gloom. Malfoy surveyed their faces with a satisfied smirk, apparently amused. 

'Yes, I do realise I am incredibly sexy, but that's no reason to gawk like dying goldfish.' he commented loftily.

Ron was the first to pull himself together. He drew his wand from his pocket and aimed it threateningly at Malfoy. 'Why are you here?' he questioned angrily. 'What do you want?'

'Tell me, Weasley.' Malfoy drawled, surveying the wand with a raised eyebrow. 'What exactly do you plan to do with that? Give me a demonstration of 'Weasley being stupid again'?'

Ron realised too late that he couldn't cast magic, and glowered at Malfoy. 'I could give you a demonstration of 'Enraged Weasley jabbing pointy stick up nostril of Malfoy.', if you'd like.' he muttered sourly.

'I somehow doubt that will be necessary.' Malfoy replied silkily. 'And as to your questions… if you want it simply, I'm here to help.' He shrugged elegantly, leaning back against the wall, and smirked.

Hermione, who had been silent for a while, narrowed her eyes in suspicion. 'Help us? What with, and why?'

'With what you were arguing about.' He replied cooly. 'Turning off the power source of the Aculux curse. I know where the master tower is, and I have the incantation to turn it off.'

There was a pause while they digested this. Harry was listening but ignoring them for the most part, except to cast a few dark glares at Ron, and occasionally Malfoy. His eyes still glittered with pain, like the shards of a broken mirror.

'So what you're saying,' Ron said eventually, 'is that you want to help us to stop Voldemort's plan, even though you're an evil Death Eater to-be who's never done a good deed in his life. And you expect us to believe you?'

'That's rather harsh, Weasley.' Draco said stonily, his face suddenly expressionless. 'I have no intention of being a Death Eater, much as it may surprise you. But yes, I meant what I said. I want to help you stop him.'

'Why are you doing this?' Hermione asked in a strange voice, frowning.

'Personal reasons.' he replied, blank-faced. Something seemed to strike him, and his mouth curved into one of his trademark smirks. 'There's already too many filthy Muggles in this country. I hardly want more, do I?'

His stance was casual, almost bored, his face bearing an enigmatic half smile. The overall impression was that this didn't matter to him, that he was doing this on a capricious whim, and whether they decided to believe him or not didn't matter. 

Ron seemed to accept this, if he noticed it at all, but Hermione noticed something else. Malfoy's eyes had the same casual look to them, but as they darted between herself, Ron and Harry, she noticed something else. Not desperation, not concern, nothing so obvious. But something was there; a hard edge, a serious edge, far removed from his false air of informality. Enough to let her know, to make her sure; whatever his reasons for doing this, he meant it. This wasn't a game to him.

Hermione frowned. 'So it was you who stole Harry's Invisibility Cloak.' She remarked, glancing at the shimmering silver cloak where it rested on the floor. 'Why?'

'To follow you.' He replied calmly. 'I wanted to stop this curse, I knew the teachers won't do anything, and I also knew that if anyone in this damned school would, it was you three. So I followed you to see what your plans were. If you'd decided not to go, I'd have gone alone.' For a moment he looked almost defiant.

'We have decided not to go.' Harry remarked, voice still deep and angry, not looking up. There was a moment's silence, in which Ron's face grew paler and guiltier.

'Really? I thought you hadn't decided yet. Certainly I heard nothing like a decision or a calm, reasoned discussion in that screaming match you were having earlier.' Malfoy commented. Harry's eyes glittered with rage, but he said nothing.

'Shall we put it to a vote?' Malfoy asked almost cheerily. 'Democracy can be useful. All in favour of actually doing something useful instead of screaming at each other…'

Ron frowned suddenly and cut in. 'Wait a minute. We can't trust him.' he said, suspicious. 'Why would his father let him stay here and lose his powers? He wouldn't. Unless he needed to stay inside the field to do something like this. To trap us for Voldemort!'

Malfoy looked vaguely impressed. 'Quite a deduction, for a Weasley.' He remarked. 'But utterly wrong. There's nothing suspicious about it at all. All the Slytherins with parents in Voldemort's ranks took an antidote about a week ago. It stops the effects becoming permanent. But it only works if you take it before the spell is cast… so it would be no good to you.'

There was a pause, in which the hard look in Malfoy's eye deepened and mistrust shimmered in the air. Even Harry was paying attention now. Beside him, the Runespoor looked agitated.

'_How much longer? How soon can we be free?_' Alpha asked sadly.

'_Soon._' replied Harry, sighing. '_As soon as we've decided not to run off and get ourselves killed…_' He glanced up with another glare at Ron.

'Show us some proof.' Hermione asked of Draco, who looked mildly affronted by her demand. 'The incantation, or a map of where the main tower is.'

'Fine.' Draco replied, pulling some creased parchment out of his pocket. It had been folded for so long that it left deep creases in the parchment. It had been written very quickly and hastily, in Draco's spiked hand.

One side bore a diagram like the one the Runespoor had drawn in the dust, but with more detail. The Forbidden Forest and Hogsmede, as well as other geographical features around the school, were added on: and one of the three towers had a large star on it.

'The master tower.' Draco remarked, pointing to it. 'Right by the north border of the Forbidden Forest. I copied these off my father's notes, but they're accurate.'

He turned the parchment over. It bore a few lines of writing in the same spiky black lettering: an incantation in Latin, and the instructions for making it work.

**Dico, et scelerati imperia huius orbis audire me imperio. Vos qui magicum ex animis magorum subduces, opus vester desinete, ad tenebras regredimini et qui subduicsis reddite. Nolite vester lucis acutae elucere numquam postes sinete; vos requiescere imperio.**

_Inside the master tower is an orb, with the sharp light that defines the field spiralling up from its depths. To end the curse, one should place both hands on the orb and recite the incantation above._

_This incantation is proven to put an end to the fearful curse of the Aculux. However, it is inadvisable to use it, as records hold various reports of what happened to the person who used the incantation. Some reports show agonising deaths, comparable to burning or a lightning strike. Others report no damage at all. As it has not been used in thousands of years, no one knows for sure: but to try it is to risk your life._

Hermione and Ron read this in silence, frowning at the warning.

'Maybe this isn't such a good idea...' Hermione said dubiously, biting her lip. 'I mean, if we could die…'

'If we don't do it, then most of this country's wizarding population will lose their magic.' Malfoy pointed out swiftly. 'If they lose their magic, then there's no one to fight Voldemort. Only his followers will have magic. I know that they plan to kill everyone in this school as soon as the effects are permanent. Then it's only a matter of time for all the out-of-school wizards to die – by old age or murder – and England is Voldemort's for the taking.'

It was a grim picture, and illuminated the harsh reality of what would happen if Voldemort's plan were carried off. An agonising death… but they would suffer just as bad if not worse at the hands of the Death Eaters in a few days, and not only them, but the entire school. And for all Dumbledore's planning, there would be no way out of the school that wouldn't result in a few deaths.

One life wagered against many lives. Like one of those hypothetical situations, so easy to answer when safely in the realms of 'Imagine if…' but so hard to accept when it came to reality.

'It's a risk we have to take.' Ron said firmly, with the stance of a Gryffindor's courage. 'We have to try it.'

Hermione nodded. 'You're right. Count me in.'

'That makes three of us.' Malfoy remarked, looking up with a strange light in his eyes. 'Potter?'

Harry's glare was foul. 'As it seems I have _one_ good friend risking her neck on this,' he said, voice clipped and scathing, as if he were the one who should be in Slytherin, not Malfoy, 'I have to go along with it, if only to keep an eye on her.' Hermione swallowed and looked down at the floor guiltily.

'Harry…' Ron said pleadingly, 'Look, I was angry…'

Harry didn't even look at him. 'Shut up, _Weasley_.

~*~

The night was cold. A cloudless sky revealed every solitary star, spanning the heavens with a glittering web. A little way above the horizon, a skinny crescent moon cast a bright, clear light on the Hogwarts grounds. It was a strange light that seemed to splice the world into black and white, allowing for no shades of grey, just utter darkness against glaring light.

But there were many shades of grey in the small party that crept out of a side door and stole softly across the grounds. The lines between friend and foe were blurred as they crossed the midnight grass, blurred almost beyond recognition. Harry and Ron, who had faced so many years together, were walking on opposite edges of the group. Ron looked desolate and guilty; Harry simmered with rage.

The other hazed aspect was in the swaggering form of Draco Malfoy, who was sauntering across the grounds as though he made heroic ventures every night. Hermione walked alongside him, mainly because she had to with Harry and Ron being so difficult, but partly because she was curious.

'Malfoy…' she began, in an attempt at conversation. He interrupted, however.

'Draco, if you please. We are… allies, after all.'

'Alright, _Draco_.' The name tasted unfamiliar to her tongue, unusual and new, but strangely comfortable. 'I want to know… how do we know we can trust you? How do we know you aren't just leading us into danger?'

'You don't.' he replied simply with a shrug. Hermione stared at him in surprise. He cut a strange figure in the moonlight; his robes as black as the sky, so if you looked hard enough you could convince yourself there was nothing of him there but his pale, pale face, small and mysterious smile on his lips, and blond hair that shimmered in the moonlight.

'Then how can we…'

'Hermione.' He interrupted, throwing her an amused smirk. 'Do you think I'm lying to you?'

'Well,' she considered, 'no…'

'Then why ask?' he replied. 'And don't be so sure. I'm a good liar.'

His joviality made her frown. 'You act like you're going to a party, not a life-and-death situation.' She muttered. He didn't reply, only gave another elegant shrug and kept on walking.

'You know what I think?' she asked, skipping a few steps to keep up with his striding pace. 'I think you're scared. I think you're putting all this on as a show, to pretend to us that you aren't really afraid. Because you don't want to lose face.'

'You know what _I_ think?' He smirked again, a wide one. 'I think you've read too many crappy psychology books.'

Irritated, Hermione did not reply, and the conversation fell into silence, broken only by the crunching of their feet on the crisp grass.

Meanwhile, the Runespoor they had freed was slithering around in the grass, weaving in and out of their ankles. All three heads were euphoric at their freedom; Beta perhaps showed it most lyrically.

'_Freedom! To slither through the grass, to hunt under the moon, to do as we will and live as we like! No space in all of thought where fancy cannot spread her painted wings, no place in all of reality where our scales cannot slither. Free!_'

'_Shut up._' Harry hissed back in irritation. 

'_What is wrong?_' Alpha spoke this time, slithering in circles around Harry's feet as he walked. '_I taste anger. There was shouting before. What is angering you?_'

'_Nothing that concerns you. Someone I thought was my friend turned out to be a heartless bastard. That's all._'

Gamma nodded sagely. '_The one with the red hair? Yes… His air tastes nasty. Full of sorrow and guilt._'

'_I don't care if his air tastes like the bloody Queen of Sheba!_' Harry snapped, but the snake took no notice.

'_And the pale boy, he tastes of fear. A lot of fear. Only the girl has anything like a normal air, and even she is troubled. Such unpleasing airs…_'

'_Let us go…_' whispered Beta. '_Leave these humans, leave this prison behind… let us leave. To slither beneath the stars, to hunt the wild mice, to taste the blood of our kill. To live free, my brethren, under ties to no man!_''

The other two heads seemed to agree, for the Runespoor slid away into the night, still hissing as it went. Beta began a song, which grew fainter and fainter as it vanished into the distance. If he listened very, very carefully, Harry swore he could hear Alpha and Gamma join in on the chorus.

But he didn't listen, and he didn't care. He hissed a nasty string of swear words, directed at Ron and the world in general, and went back to stomping broodingly along at the far end of the group.

It was only a few minutes later that Hermione spotted something. 'Do you three see a glow?' she asked, frowning and peering at the sky.

'What?' asked Ron, looking up.

'A glow. Like a line of light in the sky…' she replied, peering up into the midnight blue.

'It's the border of the field.' Draco replied casually. 'We need to follow it straight along till we reach the thread that goes towards the master tower.'

As the border came into clearer focus, they could see it for what it was, more than a fuzzy glow of light. It hung about twice the height of a grown man from the ground: if Harry had stood on Ron's shoulders he would just have been able to reach.

It was nothing more than a thin beam of pure white light. But as the four looked at it in a fearful awe, it seemed to be more than that. It was like a cut into the very fabric of reality. Even more than that; it looked sharp, like the menacing light on the edge of a knife blade. It made the observer very, very sure that if they touched it they would get their fingers sliced off.

If they had expected some sensation – a reaction, some feeling as they passed out of the field - they were disappointed. There was nothing, not even a twinge, to let them know their powers had returned.

Draco pulled out his wand. 'Be on your guard,' he told then, 'Voldemort planned to surround the towers with curses and obstacles… And of course, some of his Death Eaters on patrol. In case we get split up…'

He pulled the piece of parchment from his pocket. 'Triduplica.' He said, tapping it with his wand; it shimmered for a moment and divided like a cell splits. There was now the original parchment and three copies, which he gave to Ron, Harry and Hermione.

'This way.' he said, motioning with one elegant gesture in the direction of the Forbidden Forest, straight along the beam of light. 'We'll follow this line of the triangle until it meets the fork, then follow that line to the master tower.'

No one replied – there was no need to. They set off again in an edgy silence. The atmosphere was serious now: all four of them were tense, ready for attack. Harry still looked murderous, his knuckles white where they gripped his wand. Ron was pale, obviously still guilty, eyes flickering around them nervously, often landing on Harry's figure. Draco seemed composed, his face impassive, but his blank expression didn't genuinely indicate how he felt. Hermione appeared strong, even calm: she was doing what she had to do and not panicking in the process. But her eyes kept slipping sideways, focusing on Draco with a mixture of curiosity and uncertainty.

He was a mystery. Why was he doing this? What did he stand to gain? Nothing, as far as Hermione could see. It was so completely unlike the Malfoy she knew, a total opposite to the snide, sneering mini-Death Eater persona he usually wore with a swagger. The only explanation she could think of, as she watched him out of the corner of her eye, was that he was tricking them. Luring them out, maybe… luring them away from the castle. Into a trap!

She watched him warily, her suspicion rocketing. He could be leading them to danger… but he was leading them towards one of the towers, and there was a one in three chance that it was the right one even if he was lying. So for now, it was best not to speak up…

But the instant she suspected him of leading them into danger, of course… A dozen interesting spells coursed through her mind, and she began to ponder which one would be most efficient and most satisfying.

A sudden wind blew past then, freezing cold and violent, tearing at their clothes and blowing grit into their eyes. As she flung up her arms to protect her face, the thought flashed through Hermione's mind: _it wasn't a windy night, there hadn't even been a breeze…_

'What's going on?' shouted Ron. He had to shout: the wind was picking up, roaring in their ears and deafening them.

'We must have triggered something!' Draco called back, staggering as the gale tried to rip him off his feet. The trees were thrashing wildly in the wind, leaves being torn from their branches and hurtling away. 'We need to find shelter!'

But there was no shelter here. The Forbidden Forest, which may have offered some kind of cover, was still far, far ahead of them. All around, there was nothing but the grass, low shrubs, and the occasional ancient tree, which groaned and strained as the storm threatened to tear it from the ground.

And then, appearing on the horizon and racing towards them at a terrifying speed, was something else. A huge cloud was hurtling towards them, yellow-orange, with a noise like that of a demon rising from the mouth of Hell.

This time it was Harry that cried out, 'It's a sandstorm!' 

And then there was no time, no time to do anything before the cloud of sand hit.

The world vanished, turned into nothing but a swirling cloud of sand that cut and stung as it raced fiercely past them. Each member of the quartet was suddenly alone, cut off from those people that had been at their side only moments ago.

Hermione tried to call out, screaming for Ron or Harry, even Draco, but her voice was drowned by the roaring wind so that even she could barely hear her cries, and the sand flooded her mouth each time she tried. It was everywhere, attacking every inch of her exposed skin, digging itself into clothing and hair. She could open her eyes only a tiny crack before the sand was whipped into them too. It was a nightmare, she thought desperately as she flailed hopelessly through the sandstorm, and surely, surely she'd wake up…

And then something large and black appeared to her left and crashed into her.

'Get down, you idiot!' the figure shouted, and she realised by the sound of the voice that it must be Draco. 'Get down on the ground before everyone's separated!'

She ignored him, her hands scrabbling to catch hold of him, desperate for something tangible in this world of whirling madness. 'Where are they? Where are Harry and Ron?' she screamed, half-hysterical.

'I haven't a clue, you brainless dimwit, now get down! If you lie flat on the ground it'll get you less!'

She had no intention of lying down. 'We have to find Harry and Ron!' she shouted. 'They might be hurt… they might need our help!' She wound her fingers into the fabric of his robes and clung on tightly.

'I'll find them, alright? Now get down before you get hurt!'

When she still made no move to lie down, he muttered a swear word under his breath and shoved her hard, sending her toppling through the storm. Hermione fell through the biting sands and landed, hard, on an already-growing sand dune. She tried to struggle up – they had to find Harry and Ron – but Draco appeared again beside her, lying down on the ground. Even in the midst of a sandstorm, he did it gracefully.

'If you weren't being such an idiot, I could find them!' he shouted. 'But as it is, I have to stay here and stop you acting so stupid. And keep your head down, it's easier to breathe.'

She tried to lift her head up, to scream something at him, but his arm snaked out, forcing her head firmly into the sand. His hand stayed there, pressing on her head at all times. She couldn't move her head an inch, no matter how hard she tried.

And so, with a sandstorm raging above her and Draco firmly forcing her head against the ground, she lay and waited for the madness to end. She didn't know if Harry and Ron were alright or even where they were: they could be just a few metres away or have stumbled out of sight. All she could do was wait and hope.

~*~

Now, before you click the review button (which you are going to do, right?) I do realise that there's some unanswered questions in this chapter… Ask them if you like, but remember; a good few of them are left unanswered intentionally. In the fullness of time…

I doubt any of you could have missed the huge glob of Latin incantation in the middle of the chapter… nearly gave myself a migraine translating that! Translation follows:

**Dico, et scelerati imperia huius orbis audire me imperio. Vos qui magicum ex animis magorum subduces, opus vester desinete, ad tenebras regredimini et qui subduicsis reddite. Nolite vester lucis acutae elucere numquam postes sinete; vos requiescere imperio.**

_I speak, and command the evil powers of this orb to hear me. You who steal the magic from the souls of wizards, cease your work, retreat to the shadows and return what you have stolen. Let your sharp light shine no longer; I command you to rest._

And I think that's all.

Review. Go on. Review. Please? Pretty please with sugar on top? And icing in the middle? And a fat-free version for those on a diet?

Please?


	5. Trusting

_Magnanimous Chapter 5 – Trusting_

**Disclaimer:** I own the plot, and also the two minor original characters at the end of the chapter. JK owns all else.

**Thanks for 72 reviews goes to**: jules37, Saotoshi, Jade-Jaganashi, Lita, KrystyWroth, sm, aliveforever83, MoiraiAisa, Simrun, Phnx,  Emerald Raven, Zyzychyn, Flexi Lexi, mouse, mutsumi, willowwiccantara, Kael, Chiinoyami-chan, Solemn Rayne, willowfairy, Kersten Chayne, angkat14!

**Authors Note:** Welcome to the next instalment of Magnanimous! You are going to love me for this – a longer than average chapter, concentrating solely on D/Hr! With all interesting-y tension bits. And interesting metaphors. I get more excited by metaphors than by men. I'm weird that way.

Anyway. Settle back, get comfy. Remove all distractions – tell your friends on chat you'll be away for a bit, turn off that radio, gag your younger siblings and stuff them in the closet. And, as always, enjoy!

~*~

It felt as though an eternity had passed, with the wind and the sand whirling angrily above their heads, before the wind was abruptly cut off mid-howl. No gradual dimming, not even a few seconds that told of the end of the sandstorm. One moment the wind was shrieking its wrath above them, the next all was silent but for the ringing in their ears and the sand, which gently rained down onto the ground.

Hermione felt Draco take his hand away, and lifted her head up, scowling. 'That wasn't very polite, you know…' She trailed off as she stared at the landscape in front of her.

Sand. Where there had been dark grass and verdant shrubs, there were now huge dunes of sand, shining silver in the moonlight, rolling like miniature hills across the grounds. She pushed herself to her knees, dislodging a shower of sand from her clothes and hair, and looked around. In the distance, she could just see a dark line that might have been the beginning of the grass again. She could see the boundary line over one shoulder, and on the other side of that line not one grain had fallen.  The grass there lay clear and spotless.

Harry and Ron were nowhere to be seen.

While she had been taking in the new surroundings, Draco had got to his feet and started brushing the sand from his robes irritably. 

'It may not have been polite, but it kept you from wandering off through that storm and possibly getting killed in the process.' He remarked dryly, 'Unlike those other two idiots…'

'They aren't idiots.' Hermione snapped defensively. 'And they could be hurt…'

'They wouldn't be hurt if they'd lain down and waited it out like I suggested.' said Draco bitterly. 'And then we'd all still be together instead of split up.'

'Well, they might be hurt now.' she replied, standing up and making an effort to brush the sand from her robes. She gave up after a moment, unlike Draco, who seemed obsessed with getting every last grain off his clothes. 'We have to find them.' She added firmly.

'How exactly do you plan to go about doing that?' he asked. 'They could have gone in any direction. And we've no idea how far they've gone either. It could be miles. Face it, we can't find them now.'

'We can,' she retorted doggedly, getting angry. Angry at him for stopping her from going after them, and angry at him for arguing against her now, and angry at him simply for existing. 'We can't just leave them alone in this place… they could run into another spell, or a Death Eater…'

'Hermione, in case you haven't noticed, Harry and Ron do have a very basic ability to cast spells. And while they may be fairly brainless when it comes to danger, they can take care of themselves.' He sighed. 'This is the problem with Gryffindors. It's all bravery, bravery, bravery, and never any common sense. No Slytherin would have gone running off though that sandstorm like _they_ did.'

'No Slytherin would care enough to try and find them after they got lost in the storm, either.' Hermione spat back. 'No Slytherin would care whether they were alright or not! Do Slytherins even care about _anyone_? Because I've never seen anything to prove that they do!'

Draco's face fell for a second, as though someone had driven the edge of a razor into his soul. When he spoke, it was in a clipped voice, 'Slytherins can and do care about people. We aren't as cruel and heartless as you appear to think.'

'You certainly act that way.' Hermione glowered.

'If I don't care about anyone, then why am I here?' Draco replied, his ice-cold eyes flaring momentarily with something resembling anger. 'Why am I risking my life to do this if I don't care about anyone?'

'Because you aren't risking your life,' said Hermione, folding her arms across her chest, eyes smouldering like hot coals. 'Because you aren't trying to help _at all_. You're leading us into danger, trying to split us up, trying to stop us turning off the power source… even leading us to Voldemort!'

'No.' he said firmly, interrupting her, but she ignored him her anger was building now, not just at him but at everything: at Harry and Ron for arguing, at Voldemort for the spell, at the stress and the strain and the worry of what might happen if they failed, at the thought of what might happen if they succeeded, what it could cost them... All this, spiralling up from the wells of her heart, and bursting out in a fit of anger.

'Why else would you suddenly turn around and decide to help? Your father's a Death Eater, and we've known you're following him for years, following in his footsteps… You're doing this for Voldemort, leading us into danger and splitting us up with this sandstorm. Admit it! You've never been anything but a bully, someone who likes to hurt people, to be cruel to everyone else because it makes you feel powerful, and we were idiots to think that you could ever be anything else! You…'

But her tirade was cut off suddenly in mid-rant; Draco had stepped up to her, caught hold of her wrists and swung her so that she couldn't help but look at him. And what she saw was almost frightening; Draco's eyes, normally glacially detached and hard as steel, had fire in their depths. A fearsome light, simultaneously powerful and angry, which showed that even cold and impassive steel could ignite into angry fires if provoked enough.

…and maybe, deeper down amongst the depths of the silver-grey, was a layer that spoke of how the steel was made, by melting it and burning it and moulding it into shape, refining and strengthening and not caring how it hurt or what was lost.

'You have no idea.' Draco hissed, his very voice low with suppressed rage, 'You have no idea what I think, what I feel, who I am… And I would never hurt _anyone_. I made a promise once that I wouldn't stand by and let other people be hurt while I did nothing, and I intend to keep it.'

His intensity startled her, scared her even; she instinctively stepped away from his burning eyes. It was no longer a question of whether she believed him. He was impossible not to believe. When she looked into those eyes, so cold-grey and yet so filled with fire, she could see a myriad of emotions. Anger, pain, grief, rage, sadness… But nowhere in those grey orbs was there a hint of deception.

'I… I'm sorry…' she stammered, unsure what to say. Because what do you say to something like that? She felt her cheeks tint red in embarrassment, and tried to look away. To look into his eyes was like seeing something private about Draco, something she shouldn't see.

To her relief, he released her wrists without a word, turning away from her and setting off on their walk again. He moved unusually fast, his hands balled into fists at his sides; Hermione had to practically jog to keep up.

'Hey, slow down!' she told him. 'You're going too fast.'

He ignored her, not even glancing at her. If anything, he picked up speed. 'I can't keep up with you at this speed, slow down!' she called.

'And that bothers me because…?'

'Because then we'll be even more split up.' She replied, gulping in a deep breath. She made a strict mental note that she was really going to have to get some exercise; sitting inside reading books all day wasn't healthy.

'Have you not considered that I may actually want to be split up from you?' His voice was like an icicle: sharp, cold, and cutting.

'Look, Draco…' Hermione sighed breathlessly; she stopped jogging alongside him, too worn out to carry on. 'I didn't mean to say all that.' She called after his rapidly retreating back. 'I was angry… a bit at you, I admit, but just at the horribleness of this whole thing… And I took it all out on you. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that.'

He stopped walking, not looking around, standing perfectly still. Like a statue, she thought, with the moonlight playing off his skin and his hair shining. He could have been made of marble.

'And I believe what you said.' she added quietly, 'About not being on Voldemort's side. When you said that… when you said that you weren't lying.'

Silence, the tense kind of silence that hangs in the scales, ready for one word to tip the balance…

'I trust you…'

Slowly, ever so slowly, he turned his head to look over his shoulder at her. His face was blank and impassive, empty of all feeling, passionless as slate.

And heartbreakingly, heartbreakingly beautiful.

'Well don't just stand there.' He called back, false irritation in his voice, 'Come on. There's a long way to go yet.'

He waited until she had gratefully scurried to his side, then continued at a slower pace. 'If we want to find your friends, we should carry on this way. They know the route, and the most likely thing they'll do is follow it. With luck, we should meet up.'

Hermione nodded mutely, and they carried on in silence. She still felt a little shaken by what had just happened – and could only guess at how Draco felt. She, certainly, had a lot to think about.

Her mind flicked back to the look she'd seen in his eyes, and she shivered, glancing sideways at him as they walked. What had that meant? What was he hiding…? It was a puzzle, and like all puzzles she wanted to solve it. The strange combination she had seen: that false blankness, cold as stone, contrasted with what she had seen when she enraged him and his guard had fallen… It was as though there were two Dracos. The one she'd known and hated for years, the one who sneered in the corridors and called her names. And the one who walked beside her now, the one she'd seen in the depths of his eyes when angry. One who, insane as it sounded, actually wanted to help…

Her musings were interrupted some minutes later by Draco, who stopped abruptly and remarked, 'There are two figures approaching.' Hermione felt a twinge of guilt at his manner. So cold, blocking her out with that careful, practiced kind of blankness that completely veiled the multitude of what was hidden beneath.

She pushed that thought aside, looking with a feeling of spreading warmth and joy over to where Draco's careless hand had indicated the figures. Two people were highlighted by the moon's silver light, their features reduced to a simple mix of black and white. But their forms were male, and she was so desperate to see Harry and Ron again that she convinced herself it must be them. It had to be!

'Careful.' Draco cautioned as she made a movement towards the silhouettes, 'They may be Death Eaters.' Hermione nodded, convincing herself that he was wrong. 'Keep your wand at the ready, there's nowhere to hide if they aren't Harry and Ron.'

Her wand had never left her hand; she rubbed it now impatiently. 'I'm sure it is them…' she said, squinting at the nearing figures.

'Lets hope you're right.' Draco muttered grimly, his expressionless eyes never leaving the moving males. Over the next five minutes they came gradually closer and closer, features growing and sharpening in focus.

'It isn't them' Draco said, and now there was the slightest trace of fear in his tone.

'It is. It has to be…' Hermione whispered desperately, a spark of panic igniting within her.

'It isn't.' Draco shook his head obstinately, 'Do you know any long-range spells? We need to get them before they come any closer, incapacitate them…'

'No, no, don't do that! I'm sure it's Harry and Ron…'

But she was cut off mid sentence: a magical rope had flown towards them from the direction of the figures, wrapping around Malfoy and sending him crashing to the ground. Hermione had barely time to gasp before a second rope entwined itself around her, toppling her over to crash brutally to the sandy earth. She could see Draco's face, but it was difficult to turn her head against the ropes, and try as she might she couldn't see the approaching figures.

'What was all that, 'Oh no, they aren't Death Eaters!' rubbish that you were spouting a few seconds ago?' Draco hissed from a few inches away, eyes flashing.

'They were Ron and Harry… They have to be…' she said, struggling against the rope as fear began to creep over her like a sickening, icy blanket. They couldn't be captured… surely it was just Ron and Harry, thinking that she and Draco were Death Eaters, and they'd sort it all out in a minute…

Idiot.' Draco mocked without much malice, 'Just because you want something to be true doesn't make it reality. And if you'd remembered that then we wouldn't be lying here tied up!'

The conversation was halted by the arrival of the two Death Eaters, who had raced to the spot after bringing their quarry down. Two men, both hooded, their features invisible. Hermione's heart sank as her last hope wilted and died.

'Looks like a couple of students trying to escape the spell.' one of them said in a cultured tone. Mockery dripped off his tongue in a manner that chilled, 'Silly children.'

'Ah, they're only kids.' This voice was gruff, the kind of voice that tells rude stories in the shady corners of pubs. 'Two of 'em. Shame, as what'll happen to 'em. The Dark Lord's not best pleased with escapees…' A threat. 

'One moment, Irwin.' The first voice sounded surprised. 'This is Lucius' son. Who obviously…' his voice narrowed, sounding irritated, 'doesn't understand the injunction to stay inside the school at all times…'

'I understand perfectly well.' Draco replied, a defiant glint in his eye. The face he'd assumed – she could guess that this would definitely be a fake expression – was cool, calm and above all relaxed. As though he didn't care…'Whether I obey or not is my own choice.'

'The Dark Lord will be displeased.' The Death Eater replied regaining his staunch tone, 'As well as your father. Lucius is back at the tower, is he not, Irwin?'

Draco stiffened.

'Yeah, he was workin' on the hexes 'round the south of the master tower last time I saw him.' The Death Eater named Irwin remarked casually. 'Keepin' away from the meddlin' Ministry, after he persuaded 'em to let him out…'

'Then Lucius can deal with his son.' The one with the cultured voice remarked, 'And this other one. Help me get them back to the tower, we can put them in the dungeons until they can be seen to.'

The two voices muttered, 'Mobilicorpus,' and both Hermione and Draco floated into the air. Hovering along at wand point, they were propelled in the direction of the tower. Neither spoke: neither had anything to say. There was nothing but their rising fear, nothing but the sickening feeling of knowing they were captured, knowing Harry and Ron could be lost or hurt somewhere, knowing there was nothing they could do…

~*~

**Authors Note: **I actually don't mean to always end at a cliffhanger point. It just happens, damnit. Oh well, its no bad thing… keeps you lot coming back…

Draco appears to be acting strangely, doesn't he? I wonder if it could possibly be due to an interesting little thingy that's coming up in a later chapter… hmm…

I did receive a few reviews asking what the pairing was. Consider which groups they've been split into by that sandstorm, consider the recent happenings, consider my previous fics, consider what is written at the end of the summary. You should be able to figure it out :)

As always, review. Go on. Please.

For every review received, Draco and Hermione will be given one crust of bread to eat in their captivity.

Please, think of the characters…


	6. Discovering

_Magnanimous Chapter 6 – Discovering_

**Disclaimer:** I own the plot only. Also Gaius, Irwin and Malevium, but JK can have those if she wants.

**Thanks for 95 reviews goes to:** hp1fan, Lita, Solemn Rayne, Xtreme Nuisance, jules37, mutsumi, Flexi Lexi, KrystyWroth, angkat-14, Jade-Jaganashi, willowwiccantara, Emerald Raven, willowfairy, Kersten Chayne, Rebecca15, Chiinoyami-chan, Saotoshi, Vfoxy713, WormmonABC, Lyra Silvertongue2, aliveforever83, pupulupk.

(Special thanks, as always, to Orchid my beta, Sophie my Gamma/Official Nagger, and Simrun my sub-official nagger.)

**A/N:** Welcome back for the new chapter! Quite a bit of drama in this one, as well as a nasty revelation at the end… I shall say no more.

The character of Malevium was inspired by a particularly nasty individual I met on a chat board somewhere, who basically said that atheists (of which I am one) should have no rights at all and be second-class citizens to the religious, which got me so worked up that I couldn't write for days. So I stole his name and immortalised him in fanfiction. 

I am intolerant of intolerant people. You have been warned!

Anyway, nasty incidents aside – enjoy!

~*~

They had been travelling for half an hour.

It wasn't the floating that was uncomfortable for Hermione and Draco; it was the fact that the ropes binding them constricted their every movement and cut into their skin agonisingly. It was almost like being under the Body-Bind hex, except for the fact that they could move slightly, at the cost of painful rope burns.

They still couldn't see their captors. Hermione had tried, bruising her neck and straining her eyes to peer in their direction, but had seen nothing but night sky and trees. A similar process, stretching herself to the right, gave her a view of Draco, who was floating in perfect silence, eyes open and unblinking, not even bothering to try and look around him.

'Our little friend seems agitated, Irwin.' One of the Death Eater's remarked with a low chuckle. 'Scared, girl?'

In truth she was, almost too afraid to reply. Her heart throbbed a fast pace in her chest, and her mouth was suddenly dry and sticky. She remembered all the stories, everything she'd ever heard about the servants of Voldemort… Forcing the horrific anecdotes to the back of her mind, she made herself find her tongue.

'No.'

Another chuckle.

'You _look_ scared.' This was from the gruff-voiced one, the one called Irwin. 'Doesn't she, Gaius?'

'Well I'm not.' She even managed to sound vaguely defiant this time; a triumph of her acting skills.

The one with the educated voice, the one called Gaius, spoke in such a way that she could actually hear the patronising smile on his lips. 'There's no shame in being scared, little girl. We'd _quite_ understand if you were.'

'I already said, I'm not scared.' This retort was met by nothing but another soft and sinister chuckle. She glanced at Draco, at the cost of a sharp rope burn: he seemed to be ignoring the conversation. That or sleeping with his eyes open. His face was blanker than normal.

'You ought to be scared.' Gaius commented lazily. 'Aren't you scared for your friends back at the castle? They're all going to lose their magic. And then imagine how easy it will be for our Master to kill them all off, slow and agonizing deaths…' Hermione shivered. The tone of his voice was a perverted kind of happiness; there was pleasure in it as he spoke of death.

'They won't.' Hermione said, as much to convince herself as to convince the men. 'We'll stop that from happening, one way or another…'

'Oh, I'm sure you will.' came the amused reply. 'And then of course, there's your fate to take into account… What will Voldemort do with you, I wonder? Are you Pureblood?'

'I'm Muggleborn.' She said, drawing as much dignity as a bound and powerless prisoner can.

'Oh, perfect.' Gaius laughed, a harsh, cruel laugh that hung horribly in the cold air. 'Our Master does so enjoy a little ritual torture before mass genocide…'

They were playing with her, mocking her, Hermione realised. Like a cat plays with a mouse. The thought make her shiver again.

'Irwin, tell our little Mudblood friend what Voldemort will have in store for her.'

'Er, I dunno, Gaius.' Irwin finally spoke up. 'It's his choice what he does with her…'

'What do you _think_ he'll do, you brainless buffoon?' Gaius sounded annoyed: Irwin had spoiled his game. There was another lengthy pause before Irwin replied in his slow, gruff voice.

'Well, he'll probably torture her… using the Cruciatius, and lots of other Dark spells, maybe that one that turns yer bones inside out, he likes that one, can't remember the name of it…'

'Oh, forget it, Irwin.' Gaius spat irritably. 'We're here now.

Hermione frowned. At the tower already? They hadn't even been able to see it when they had set off; surely they couldn't have got there in such a short time?

A doorframe passed overhead, and the stars were replaced by a rather battered looking wooden ceiling. Wherever they were, it was dark, and Hermione suspected it was entirely built out of wood, judging by the hollow sounds the Death Eaters' footsteps made as they walked.

'Right, grab onto your prisoner.' Gaius instructed Irwin, and a moment later Hermione felt a large meaty hand clamp around her foot. She almost screamed. 'Holding on tight?' Gaius continued. 'Very well, let's go…'

A moment later came the familiar feeling that the world had just disintegrated, the tugging feeling behind the navel. Of course, thought Hermione, a Portkey…

~*~

'Look, Harry, I…'

'Shut up, Weasley.'

Ron flinched, as though Harry's sharp dismissal had been a physical attack, and went back to trailing disconsolately along behind his angry friend. They had made no plans for where they were going; the unspoken consensus seemed to be that they would follow along parallel to the border of the field, until they met up with the line that led to the main tower.

They had both run through the sandstorm – separately, as the whirling sand made it impossible to keep together, especially considering Harry was quite keen to lose Ron in the gale. But they'd both broken free of the sand on the far side, so far from their original path that the boundary line was only a dim glow on the horizon.

It had been a terrifying jolt to Ron, finding himself alone in the middle of such a perilous situation, especially knowing his friends were somewhere nearby and possibly hurt, just out of his sigh, just out of his reach.... His heart had leapt with relief when he'd recognised the messy dark hair that could only be Harry; he'd raced up to him, calling out.

But the instant he'd got close enough to see his face, he'd stopped dead. He couldn't forget how Harry's face had looked in that moment – not simply anger, not simply hate, but a dark and intense loathing. Something nearing the blistering looks of abhorrence Snape reserved for Harry himself.  Ron's stomach twisted painfully with guilt whenever he thought of it.

How could he have been so stupid? A little irritation, a moment of anger… even he couldn't believe the words that had tumbled so foolishly from his mouth. Was there anything he could have blurted out that would have hurt Harry more? It was all his fault. He didn't blame Harry for hating him; he couldn't without being a complete hypocrite. In Harry's position, he'd hate himself too. Stupid, stupid, stupid…

'Harry, please listen…'

'No.'

The answer was cold and hard, radiating ice cold anger. Ron shivered at the tone, but kept on trying.

'Please, Harry, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it…'

'Don't waste your breath.' Harry replied, still not looking in Ron's direction. 

'I was angry, I didn't mean to say anything like that… And I'm sorry, I really am. And I guess I don't deserve forgiving but… can't we please just act like it never happened? At… at least for now… until we find the others…?'

Harry stopped walking. Somehow it was such an ominous act, that everything around them seemed to hold its breath. A deathly silence prevailed, as though the world had paused on its axle. Slowly, he turned to face Ron. His eyes were narrowed, and the malachite green slits burned with an icy cold fire that seared the soul.

'Act like it never happened?' he spat. 'You think you can just say… all _that_… and then _act like it never _happened? You think you can just _apologise_?' He gave Ron one last filthy look of disgust, and turned back, facing away from him. 'You don't deserve forgiveness, and you never will.'

He began walking, leaving Ron behind. Ron made no move to catch up, just stood there beyond misery, biting his lip and staring at the ground. Harry's words had cut him deeply, but he knew that he deserved no better. Deep down, he hated himself for what he had said.

Doggedly, he forced himself to begin walking after Harry again, not wanting to get too far behind. Why, he wondered, was he still sticking with Harry when Harry couldn't stand to be near him? Loyalty, he realised, and all those other things. Like not wanting his friend to get brutally murdered, and a stubborn hope that maybe they could patch things up. And stopping Voldemort, of course.

He carried on wallowing in his miserable manner of thought, staring sadly at the ground. His stride was longer than Harry's, and after a while he caught up with him; Ron immediately froze, waited until Harry was a few metres ahead, then continued, careful to constrain his steps so he stayed a short distance behind.

It was five minutes later that their progress was abruptly halted.

Ron realised that Harry had stopped walking. He looked up, curiously and not without some hope, but the reason for the halt was clear. In front of them, stretching as far as they could see in each direction, was a vast chasm in the earth. 

It had no craggy bits of earth on the sides, or at least none as far as they could see down, for the depths of the gap were lost in dark, impenetrable shadows. The sides were perfectly smooth, cut off from the ground at a perfect right angle. In some places, they could see where the spell that had created it had sliced perfectly through hard rock, creating a dangerously vertical drop. It had the unrealistic look of a sedimentary fossil diagram.

There was a silence.

Neither of them asked the obvious question, which was 'What do we do now?' Neither would speak to the other unless it was absolutely, absolutely necessary. Harry wasn't speaking to Ron, and Ron felt strangely timid of speaking to his ex-friend.

They stood, without speaking, and individually considered the options.

Ron glanced towards the glowing line whose path they were following, the on which marked the boundary of the field. There was no magic inside that field. Therefore, it was entirely possible that the chasm cut off abruptly at that boundary… It would be a long way round, but it seemed like the only way…

But for it to work, he'd have to tell Harry. The mere prospect of speaking to his friend took on a new and frightening aspect; Ron was terrified of saying anything to him now lest Harry grew more angry.

Summoning together all his courage, Ron opened his mouth and prepared to speak. But as he did so, Harry wordlessly turned and began walking along the edge of the chasm, in the exact opposite direction to the one Ron had planned to take.

Objecting to this would mean speaking. And Harry had probably thought of something that he himself has not… Quickly, he began to follow along behind him, staying a few metres back as usual.

As they progressed, Ron spotted what Harry's Quidditch-trained eyes had picked out from a distance: the chasm was spanned with a flimsy-looking mass of wood and rope, a primitive-looking bridge. As they drew nearer, Ron began to harbour doubts about its safety. The ropes looked tattered and old, the wood decidedly thin. The supporting posts that held the thing in place were leaning at odd angles.

Harry didn't appear to notice, or at least not care. Without a pause, he reached the beginning of the bridge and stepped on, holding tightly to the ropes and walking at a normal speed. It swayed and creaked ominously under his weight.

Ron paused nervously at the brink of the wooden contraption, and gulped. He could back out, find another way across… But then he'd lose Harry. Then both he and Harry would be alone, and more vulnerable… He could die. Worse, Harry could die, and all because he, Ron, hadn't had the guts to cross a rickety bridge.

Taking a deep breath, he stepped onto the bridge.

_Creak. Sway._

Ron grabbed tight hold of the ropes, the rough fibres rubbing coarsely against his palms. He glanced up. Harry was about halfway across, completely unfazed.

Nothing to it. Nothing to be afraid of. It's just a bridge….

A dangerous, old, rickety bridge that wasn't safe, over a magical chasm that, Ron suspected as he peered nervously over the edge, was quite possibly bottomless.

Forget about it. Just take one step at a time, one foot in front of the other. Never, _never_ let go of the ropes.

Slowly, Ron began to shuffle across the bridge. The world was so silent, so still, he could hear his own heartbeat in his ears. Nothing but the sound of Harry's footsteps up ahead, the ominous creak of the bridge beneath his feet, his own harsh breath…

And then, another noise. A horrible noise, with the same spine-wrenching intensity of fingernails on a chalkboard. It was the sound of a rope fraying unnaturally quickly…

He turned around, panic erupting in his eyes. The rope on both sides of the bridge behind him were surrounded by a fuzzy yellow glow, and he could see them being eaten away, vanishing before his eyes…

There was no time to run. Only time to grab the rope even tighter and cry out, as the sky above them and wood beneath them fell away, sending them swinging through the air. After a second that lasted an eternity, they thumped into the smooth but rock solid wall of the chasm, a hard wallop that knocked the wind out of them both.

A few boards fell silently into the chasm. Ron made the mistake of watching them fall into the blackness, until he could no longer see them.

He was hanging, both hands on one rope, nothing to give his feet support. He scrabbled with his toes at the perfectly smooth walls of the chasm, but in vain. His stomach lurched with fear.

Above Ron, Harry was in better luck; the boards had held up there, and they provided a kind of ladder up the side of the chasm itself. But this bridge was now only supported by the two dangerously insecure poles on the far side, and they began to slowly and ominously creak, being pulled out of the ground by the sheer weight they were now supporting alone.

Harry glanced upwards at the poles, then downwards at Ron, and seemed to come to a decision. As quickly as he could, he clambered downwards, towards where Ron dangled precariously over the drop.

Ron, as soon as his face came properly into view, appeared a fearfully pale white in the moonlight. Harry clambered down as far as he could while still keeping in the safe part, grabbed tight to one of the ropes with one hand, and stretched the other towards Ron.

'Grab on.'

Ron blinked at the hand, as if unsure whether to take it or not. Because of the way the bridge had broken, the only way Harry could reach Ron while staying on the safe parts was to hang on the other side of the bridge. If Ron took his hand, he'd have to let go of the rope, and trust his entire weight to Harry… One glance at the chasm below seemed to make his mind up, however, and he firmly gripped Harry's hand.

As Ron released the rope, another board fell away.

Ron looked up, their eyes meeting for the first time since their fight. For one horrible, horrible moment, as he dangled from the arm of the friend who hated him, he thought Harry would let go.

He wouldn't, Ron chided himself. This is Harry, not some Slytherin git like Malfoy. I'd trust him with my life. Even if he did hate me at the time…

Slowly, face pale in the moonlight, Harry tugged Ron up. A further ominous creak from above indicated the bridge was a step closer to breaking; they both ignored it. Gritting his teeth, Harry heaved Ron up, until he could catch hold of a firm board and haul himself to safety.

Without another word spoken, they clambered up the remnants of the bridge. All the time, there was the disturbing creaking of the wooden poles being wrenched from their places in the ground. Ron reached the top first, grateful to be on firm ground again. Almost timidly, he turned and offered a hand to Harry, to help him over the edge.

Harry ignored it, dragging himself up, and Ron's heart sank.

They sat for a few minutes at the top of the bridge, resting after their ordeal. The wrenching of the poles from the safe earth carried on, although slower without the weight of Harry and Ron dragging it down. The whole thing eventually plummeted into the abyss.

Ron gulped, looking from the place where the bridge used to be to Harry and back again. 'Thanks…' he said, in a small voice. 'For helping me…'

'Don't waste your breath.' Harry replied shortly and coldly. 'I did what needed doing, and I've have done the same for anyone. No matter how much I hated them.'

Ron winced, and the two lapsed back into silence again.

~*~

They slammed back to reality with a force that was almost painful. Hermione, who had wanted to see what the tower looked like, felt almost cheated: they were inside it already. What she could see of the room was equally disappointing: white ceiling, white walls, completely bare.

Still being levitated by the Death Eaters, they passed through a door and through a narrow, twisting corridor, still completely white and devoid of any decoration. They went down a spiral staircase, getting banged quite a bit on the rails. The cold whiteness persisted; Hermione began to wonder why it was there. The towers of evil Dark Lords should be black, or at least a very dark green. Not pure and simple white.

Then again, there was a menacing touch to the white. Hermione always thought of white as a fresh, clean colour, but here it wasn't. Here it was bare and blank, cold and clinical. Here it was unfeeling, uncaring and utterly unnerving.

Another flight of stairs, and another bashing against the railings. And then they stopped.

'Evening, Malevium.' said Gaius smoothly. 'Two prisoners for you here.'

A cold, harsh voice which made Hermione shudder responded, 'That's Lucius' son.'

'We know.' Gaius replied curtly. 'He disobeyed the order to stay inside the school. Lucius can deal with him as he sees fit.'

'And the girl?'

'Mudblood.' Irwin replied shortly. 'She was outside the school too. Found her in the grounds.'

The shuffling noise of Malevium's feet drew closer, and a twisted, bitter face craned over Hermione, peering down through slitted green eyes that glittered with rage. He exhaled harshly, and Hermione had to hold her breath in disgust at the rank stench of his breath.

His narrow eyes spiteful, the man hawked and spat directly in Hermione's face, making her gasp aloud. 'Filthy Mudbloods.' He growled. 'They're second-class humans. Shouldn't have no rights, shouldn't even be people.'

This said, he drew back, leaving Hermione to shudder at the grim audacity of his statement. For a moment, she wanted to cry out against him, to tell him that he was wrong, to scream at him and ask how on earth could something as trivial as whether your parents were a witch and a wizard could matter. But she bit her tongue, allowing her fury to simmer. It would do no good to anger her captors…

 Gaius' hand – she assumed it was Gaius' – fumbled briefly in her pocket; she squirmed away from his touch in revulsion as he drew out her wand, leaving her powerless. Presumably Draco too, but she couldn't see. With a jerk, they were levitated through a door into a small room, presumably a cell. Their bonds were removed with a muttered spell, and the door slammed shut.

'A filthy Mudblood in my cells…' she heard Malevium begin, and the statement was suddenly just too much for Hermione: she stumbled blindly to her feet, vision blurred as hot, angry tears welled up. She threw herself at the door, bashing at it with her fists.

'You'll see!' she screamed. 'Harry and Ron are going to stop this curse, turn it off, and then you're all going to go to Azkaban! You bastards… You're the ones who aren't people, because you don't care about anyone! You aren't human!

A low snicker came from outside; a cruel, cold chuckle that turned Hermione's bones to ice. 'The Mudblood thinks her little friends are going to save her.' Gaius laughed.

'Well, the little Mudblood's in for a shock, isn't she?' Malevium chuckled. 'Filthy thing doesn't know, does she…'

'Know what?' Hermione demanded. There was no answer but another low snigger. 'Know what!' she screamed, pounding on the door.

'Her little friends can't turn the spell off, now, can they?' Malevium's voice, full of smug gloating. 'Because the dark Lord is the one who set it up. And if anyone other than the Dark Lord tries to stop it… why, they die, don't they. Very, very painfully.'

It took a moment for this to sink in. 'Die?' she whispered softly, the pain of the whisper stabbing her like a dagger. 'Die…' She shook her head, shock giving way to feat, anger, hate. 'No!' she shouted. 'No, it can't be true, it isn't true!'

'Oh, it's true alright.' said Gaius. 'Best start mourning them, filthy Mudblood…'

There were footsteps, and the chatter receded. Hermione hammered on the wooden door, shouting her lungs out.

'No! No, they're not going to die! I won't let them! Let me out, let me out!'

Draco cut into her screaming softly. 'They're gone, Hermione.'

She spun round. 'I know! I know they're gone, you idiot! I've got to get out of here, Harry and Ron…'

'We can't get out.' He shrugged. 'These walls are fairly thick, whatever they're made of. There's no window. And that door may be wood, but it's going to be a hardwood, and it's a few inches thick. You'd never break through it.'

'Well, I have to try!' she shouted, vision blurring with fresh tears. She span again, slammed herself against the door, slammed again, before sinking to the ground in a limp bundle, sobbing loudly.

'Don't cry.' Draco said, sounding as neutral as ever though perhaps a little alarmed. 'What are you crying for?'

She raised her head. 'Harry and Ron are going to die, you imbecile!' she sobbed. 'And I can't get out, I can't help them, I can't tell them not to do it...'

The blond boy shrugged. 'Well they aren't even near the tower yet. They might not get here. So there's no reason to cry.'

'But what if they do…' she replied, her voice now barely a whimper. 'If they do, and I can't warn them… and they'd not have died if I'd just have been able to warn them…'

'If someone you care for dies, and you couldn't do anything to stop it, then you can't be blamed…' he said firmly.

'But I would… I would blame myself…' she whispered.

Draco looked away, and didn't speak again. Hermione kept on sobbing; sobbing for the fear of what might happen, sobbing for the anger she felt at Malevium's cruel words, sobbing at the horrible impotent feeling that had settled sickeningly in her gut. Sobbing until she fell asleep.

~*~

**AN:** *hums a quiet, 'Dun dun dun!'*

Hehehehehehe…

Is that a coffin we see looming in Harry and Ron's future, or is some ignored factor going to save them? Only new chapters will tell!

And as to the question of Draco's actions, Chapter 8 is the one you're all waiting for. What, you don't think he'll just tell her all that straight away? These things take time. And I know you all have questions… Do ask them, even though most of them are going to be answered. I may have missed something.

And that, I think, is all. Review, review, review, a thousand times review (well, don't actually review a thousand times… just once will do. You know what I mean.)

Please?


	7. Suffocating

_Magnanimous Chapter 7 – Suffocating_

**Disclaimer:** It all belongs to JK, except for plot…

**Thanks for 123 reviews goes to:** pupulupk, Jade-Janagashi, Xtreme Nuisance, Lyra Silvertongue2 (x2), willowfairy, Wormmon ABC, Lita, mutsumi, Flexi Lexi, Saotoshi, silvermist2, Kou Shun'u, animegirl-mika, airotci, jules37, CosmicAngel, Vfoxy713, tom4eva, KrystyWroth, Sam8, Kersten Cheyne, Oz1 (x3), Chiinoyami-Chan, Rebecca15, Solemn Rayne.

**Authors Note:** Chapter seven is here at last. And think, only one more week before the Chapter Where All Is Explained. Well, not all, but certainly a lot.

I also have an important announcement to make, concerning future fanfiction projects… Due to the plot bunnies that have nibbled my earlobes off over the weekend, I'm planning a new **book-length** fanfiction. It's probable title will be _Fallen_, and it should begin coming out sometime around the end of Magnanimous – obviously I can't say when yet. Magnanimous will be finished, and updates shouldn't become erratic, as I intend to make it my priority to get Magnanimous finished.

I'll hope to see you all as readers of the new fic (which will be D/Hr!)

Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy this chapter and all the rest.

~*~

Ron was sick of silence.

They had trudged onwards across the grassy grounds for about half an hour since the bridge's collapse, without incident. In all that time there had been not a single word spoken, no sound but the constant rhythmic thuds of their feet hitting the ground. They kept falling into a kind of rhythm, which Harry, when he noticed, always broke by walking faster, away from Ron. 

It was depressing, to say the least.

Ron sighed inaudibly to himself, dragging his feet miserably through the grass. Harry hated him, and it was all his fault. He wondered cynically if Harry would ever forgive him at all. Probably not, he concluded pessimistically.

Silence.

After the chasm, Ron kept glancing up every few metres to see if there was anything on the horizon. He hadn't seen anything but a faint shimmer in the air, vague and formless like a heat haze. Probably another hex, though he hadn't a clue what it was. And there seemed no way to go around it, so the only feasible option was to plough resolutely through it…

And they weren't going to do anything as radical as actually _talk_ about it, after all. Heavens forbid.

Silence.

The haze was coming closer. Ron wondered idly if Harry had even seen it, or whether he was oblivious to its very existence. Either way, it wouldn't change anything.

Time passed slowly in this way for a few minutes, as the two boys came closer and closer to the shimmering in the air that heralded their next challenge. There was no way around it, Ron realised as he looked around; they could only go straight through.

Silence.

And now it was in front of them, a fiercely flickering patch of air, the thickness impossible to estimate. Harry paused at its edge, peered at the space in front of his eyes. Ron's tried to examine it as well, but his eyes strayed onto Harry of their own accord. He turned them away sadly and unwillingly, as though he would be punished for merely looking at his friend's face.

Ron opened his mouth, realised he had nothing to say, and shut it again. 

They didn't know what this spell was. They had no clue what it would do to them. It could kill them. It could torture them unspeakably. It could do some unimaginably horrific Dark thing to them, something so incredibly unspeakable that only someone utterly soulless like Voldemort could have come up with it…

But they were Gryffindors, after all.

Taking a deep breath and a fleeting glance at the side of Harry's head, Ron steeled himself for some kind of incredible pain and stepped into the haze.

It felt like being underwater. It was difficult to move; the air felt heavy and difficult to breathe, but apart from that he was fine. He heard Harry step in after him, making a dull thud, which reverberated around the shimmering area like the ripples of a stone dropped into water.

Ron pushed on through the haze. It was quite hard to see; everything seemed darker somehow, and distorted by the shimmering. He couldn't hear Harry's footsteps behind him, although when he looked around he was there. The air weighed heavier on him than at first, thicker and harder to breathe… how much further?

And then, he breathed in again and found there was nothing there.

White-hot panic spread through his body, followed by a surge of adrenalin. He gulped, trying desperately to suck in air, any air, just a drop of it, before beginning to run. But the haze was thickening, blinding him, choking him, and if he looked round he could just see Harry, also running in the same painfully slow way, before the air thickened to whiteness and trapped Ron on his own. And it was weaving around him, warm and welcoming on his skin, like a fatal whisper in his ear that called him to sleep, to sleep, an eternal oblivion…

He would have cried out; but there was nothing in his lungs to cry with, and no sound inside the haze of the spell. He ran on, feet thudding noiselessly into the ground.  Nothing was visible now, not even his own self, the spell blinding him completely. Harry, where was Harry… He had to be there, running just behind…

But Ron could no longer run. The burning of his lungs was obscured by the call of the spell, the darkness looming before him, calling him down, down into the end, into eternal nothingness. How could he resist it? Come, come rest, come sleep, sleep forever, eternal and perfect sleep…

Eyelids already drooping, he had all but given in to the spell. He stumbled forwards, as much by momentum as anything else, beginning to crumple to the floor, faint from lack of oxygen, but he couldn't feel that anymore, and all that mattered was the sleep, death, so simple, so painless, all he had to do was give in…

And then the fresh air was upon his face, and his lungs burned as though on fire, and he gasped in the sweet, sweet air.

Darkness receded from the corners of his vision as oxygen flooded his bloodstream once more. Ron sank to his knees, breathing deeply, rejoicing in the air he breathed. Safe at last, he sank to the floor and with only a heartbeat's space to hope desperately that Harry had survived, he gave into the remnants of the spell. He didn't fall into death, not now, but instead into a deep and dreamless sleep.

~*~

Hermione awoke with a dull headache throbbing behind her eyes. She was lying on something cold and hard, a harsh stone texture imprinting itself on her cheek. Moaning slightly, she tried to move back into sleep, back to her warm dreams. What had been happening again? Something about a journey… someone else, a boy… and what then?

A spoon clattered metallically against a bowl, chasing the tattered threads of the dream out of her mind, to be forgotten completely. Irritably, she opened her eyes.

The room she was in was tiny. The smooth white walls were featureless except for a sealed door at one end and a barred window at the other, allowing fresh air and light into the cell. The floor that had jutted so cruelly into her face appeared to be stone, but it was pure white, blending seamlessly with the walls.

Draco Malfoy was sitting on the floor with his back against the wall, supporting a bowl in one hand and eating from a spoon with the other. Her movement caught his eye, and his grey eyes flitted towards her.

'Morning.' He remarked with complete casuality. 'There's a bowl for you too.'

He nodded towards a simple bowl that lay by the door, with a spoon beside it. Shuffling over, still rubbing the sleep from her eyes, Hermione could see what appeared to be porridge, faintly steaming in the white porcelain bowl. Feeling suddenly hungry as the delicious smell caught her nose, she picked it up, sat herself down and began to eat.

The meal passed in silence, and it was an ideal opportunity for Hermione to reflect on their predicament. They didn't seem to be in any immediate danger… at least not until Voldemort came for them. Which was sort of a good thing, she supposed.

But then… there was Harry and Ron. Her stomach twisted sickeningly, and she felt a sudden urge to beat down the door, to pull out the bars, to tear at the walls with her fingernails… She had to help them. If she sat here and thought about it and thought about it, unable to help, she'd go mad. Harry and Ron were her friends, her best friends. She couldn't let them die.

She couldn't.

Taking a savage mouthful of tasteless porridge, she forced her thoughts away from them. Wandless and imprisoned, she could do nothing but drive herself insane…

Biting her lip, her eyes fall on her cellmate, Draco. Now there was something to think about. He was acting so… so strangely. She'd never thought of him as anything other than an annoyance, someone who made her life a misery, someone to be hated and occasionally feared. A Death-Eater to be. A Slytherin. A prejudiced Pureblood.

But now… It was as if she'd realised that all this, all the opinions and judgements and thoughts she'd held about him, was only a thin, thin layer on the top which obscured something… else. Something deeper, something… more.

Draco had done things which, simply, didn't make sense. He had helped them. He had gone against Voldemort's wishes. He had said some things… some strange things… She remembered their argument before, when she'd said something, gone too far, and his eyes had flashed like molten steel… 

And all this was part of that deeper Draco, who she didn't know and didn't understand.

Hermione realised that she'd been scrutinising him for the past minute, as though the answer to her thoughts would appear on his forehead, and looked away. But her eyes quickly found their way up to his face again, stayed there, frowned.

Draco's face was very little different from its usual blank mask. But the tiny, tiny differences – a tightening here, a lowering here, miniscule creases between his immaculate eyebrows – made the transformation from surface emptiness to inner thoughts.

He looked… thoughtful, pensive. And not only that. Worried? Afraid? She couldn't tell.

'What's wrong?' she asked without thinking, and instantly regretted it. His eyes flashed up to her, instantly clouding over defensively, blank again.

'Nothing.' He said shortly. She nodded, and turned back to her food.

'You just… looked a bit worried, that's all.'

'Well I'm not.' He said sarcastically. 'I'm locked up in Voldemort's tower having pretty much betrayed him to you lot, knowing full well that he hates nothing worse than a traitor, oh, and my father's supposed to be visiting in an hour or so, so I don't expect to be alive much longer. What could I _possibly_ have to worry about?

Hermione had involuntarily shrunk away from him during the outburst of anger-tinted sarcasm. But the questions and the curiosity that had been playing at her mind since last night were too much for her, and she was nothing if not a Gryffindor.

'Why… why did you do it then? Why did you tell us… help us?

'That is none of your business.'

They fell silent again. Hermione glanced away, took a few more gulps of her fast-cooling meal. But her eyes were drawn magnetically back to Draco again, who once more sat with his back to the wall, bowl in his lap, eating slowly, his mind wandering.

Her questions, if anything, were burning more fiercely. Why? They demanded. Why is Draco doing this… His evasiveness, if anything, was even more enticing. It meant there was some real reason, something he didn't want to tell her… And while she couldn't and wouldn't force him to tell her, that didn't make the intense curiosity fade.

What to say, what to say…

'So, you said your father's coming?'

His face froze again. 'Yes.' He replied stiffly. 'That guard told me when he brought the meals. And if you think I'm saying anything more than that…'

'I wasn't expecting you to.' She interjected hastily. 'But… you think he'll be angry?' Hermione asked. She was prodding, opening possible avenues of conversation, trying to get him to respond.

'Why? Scared, are you?' His face took on a glimmer of his old malice, and Hermione was surprised to find herself glad that it was there. He seemed less melancholy, more like the familiar old Draco.

She attempted to look nervous. 'A little… I guess.' If she pretended to be asking on those grounds, she might get more information.

Draco's face went suddenly hard, his muscles tense, and his grey eyes mistily distant. 'Oh, yes.' He said at last. 'He'll be angry.'

Without quite knowing why, Hermione shivered.

~*~

_He was running. Always running, down the same set of dark corridors that twisted and turned on themselves, twining like snakes. He didn't know why he was running, didn't think about it. All he knew was that he must run… Running towards something – someone – but also running away._

_The corridors were lined with doors, huge imposing doors set in unnaturally dark wood, so dark it was almost jet-black, matching the corridor perfectly. Sometimes, one would be ajar; if it was, he had to open it. If it was ajar, it might be what he was running towards, and if it was, he could wake up and escape._

_They always held different things, the doors; different memories, plucked from his head to mock him and fill him with fear. Open one, and he was back in the graveyard, watching Cedric die, time and time again, being tied to a gravestone and expecting to die… Open another, and he was a child again, before he even knew he was a wizard, being chased by Dudley's gang, running away, because if they got their hands on him… Open another, and he was nowhere at all, but through the nothingness echoed his parent's last moments._

_And then, there was the thing behind the last door, the thing that woke him up, let him escape…_

_Open that door, and he was standing in the room with the archway, and the veil hanging there, and the battle raging all around. Here alone of all other places he was more than a ghost; he could act, move around, and the scene changed. But whatever he did, the end was always the same: Bellatrix, with her face alight with the fires of Hell, casting the spell, the spell that knocked Sirius backwards, through the veil, into death…_

_And there, ahead of him, a single door on the long black corridor stood ajar, a thin beam of sickly white light spilling into the corridor. With the clammy feeling of dread creeping up his body, he slowed his walk, approaching the door. As he reached for the doorknob, he felt a strange wave of cold spread over him Unusual, there had never been a temperature in these dreams before…_

_In a heartbeat's time, the nightmare had twisted sickeningly, as he realised that the cold clamminess that was creeping up his body was no dream…_

… and bolted awake in time to see a supple black mass, like a black shroud, glide gracefully up his torso. Harry's eyes widened to see the creature, straight out of Defence Against The Dark Arts textbooks – a Lethifold. He had time for one short, panicked scream before the creature flowed over his mouth, sealing him inside itself, suffocating him.

There was no air. Harry tried desperately to gasp in a lungful, but the jet-blackness clung lightly to his face, preventing even a molecule from reaching his desperate lungs, already burning for oxygen. He struggled in vain, cursing himself for not keeping his wand near him… he could have fought it off…

He remembered the spell they had run through, moments before, the one that almost suffocated them. Ironic, that he'd die in the same way so soon after escaping it once… He knew he was going to die. There was no way he could fight it off, not without his wand. He was as good as dead, though he kept on kicking and struggling with oxygen-starved muscles already protesting, the darkness clinging like cobwebs to his lungs, black flickering at the edges of his mind, spreading…

And then, a miracle. The clammy darkness receded; fell back, uncovering his face. All his vision was filled with bright white light, shining in his eyes, and he could breathe again… For the second time in as many hours, he gulped in great lungfuls of air, thankful to be able to breathe.

The whiteness passed overhead; revealing the star-spattered sky, then swing around again to leap back over him, attacking the Lethifold. He felt it slither hastily down his legs, flowing like a dark shadow across the ground.

Shakily, he sat up, and the world fell into place.

The white creature which had saved him was Ron's Patronus – in the form of a lioness, half-grown, not quite an adult. He remembered how Ron had been irritated at having 'a girl Patronus' until Hermione had pointed out that the female lions were the ones who did all the hunting while the males lazed around doing nothing. 

But he stopped that line of thought.

Ron himself was half-sitting, half-kneeling a few metres away, his face as white as his fading Patronus. 'Are you alright?' he demanded fearfully.

Harry swallowed. 'Fine.' he said, looking forcefully in the other direction. Ron… Everytime he looked at Ron, he remembered those words he'd said, the hateful, hurtful accusations…

_… when Sirius died it was because you were thick enough to race off into danger based on a dream…you still raced off without bloody thinking…you utter idiot!…_

He could no longer look at Ron without those words whispering, echoing through his mind, stabbing him forcibly like a dagger in his heart. And he couldn't remember those words without hate and anger spiralling up through his chest…

'Al… alright.' Ron replied softly. He was upset. Harry knew he was upset. And while part of him whispered that, maybe, he should put that incident behind him and thank him for saving his life, another part spat anger and hatred, gleeful that Ron was suffering a little of the pain that Harry had felt, getting some perverse form of justice.

And that part won. Harry let it win, because he was angry.

'Come on.' He spat, clambering to his feet once more. 'I'm not going back to sleep here.'

Ron nodded mutely, standing up and following as Harry led onwards. Had he bothered to look, he might have seen the glittering tear that trickled down Ron's cheek, before he dashed it away.

~*~

**A/N:** One of the things I've noticed about his fic is that people take different sides with the characters, especially with Harry and Ron. I'm not sure whether that's a good thing or a bad thing… Why not review and tell me?

Note the over-obvious attempt at plugging the reviewing. Well, that is what this A/N is for, anyway… Begging for reviews. So please? Pretty please? Review?

Are you going to make me get down on my knees and grovel?

Please?


	8. Hurting

_Magnanimous Chapter Eight – Hurting_

**Thanks for 148 reviews go to:** Jade-Jaganashi, Lyra Silvertongue2, Vfoxy713, animegirl-mika, Kou Shun'u, Saotoshi, Cuppy, KrystyWroth, Zyzychyn, jules37, Wormmon ABC, willowfairy, willowwiccantara, Simrun, aliveforever83 (x2),  mutsumi, Rebecca15, iron III oxide, Sam8, Oz1, Sparkle-eyed Dreamer, Kersten Cheyne, Emerald Raven, Hermione182, Tats.

**A/N:** Yes, it's THE long-awaited Chapter 8. To use my own words: 'It's the one where all the stuff comes out.' That was a particularly nasty double-entendre made when describing the chapter to my gamma, which she has never let me forget. If you didn't get it, be thankful that you are innocent and uncorrupted.

Oh, and to answer a question about the first chapter: Yes, the levitating spell is Wingardium Leviosa. Mobilicorpus, however, is used various times for levitating unconscious/Petrified people's bodies. I'm not really sure whether the Runespoor is a thing or whether it counts as a 'person', but I think of it as a person. I guess it's open to interpretation…

The upcoming book-length fic I mentioned in my previous update is underway! It should begin to come out somewhere around the end of Magnanimous – I can't do enough work in one week to get both fics up at once! Plus, I like to have a good few chapters ready and waiting before I begin working. Gives me a fall-back in case of disaster.

Anyway, I know what you're all really here for is the exciting chapter. Which I, personally, hate; but most writers hate their work so I'm not too worried about that. That said, let me invite you to sit back, relax, and enjoy!

~*~

Hermione, after a long time spent musing the subject, had concluded that if you were to know that one of your best friends was probably going to die soon and you could do nothing about it, the absolute worst place to know it was in a dungeon. 

There was nothing to distract herself away from the horrifying possibilities but blank walls, which were no distraction at all. The images kept playing through her mind like some kind of horror movie; Ron and Harry… reaching the orb, trying to stop the spell, but being killed instead… Which one would it be? Harry, she guessed; he was always the hero. Or Ron. It could be either of them who was going to die. Heads it's Harry, tails it's Ron… like the toss of a coin.

Her cellmate wasn't much help either. Draco sat in one corner, back pressed to the blank walls, staring into nothingness. He was tense, pale, but his face was carefully empty. Every now and then, as a door clanged far away or a footstep clattered on the corridors, he would start a little with what Hermione would have called fright if it had been anyone else. But he always faded back to that blankness, that distant stare.

It gave her something else to think about. He seemed afraid of something, certainly, and from what he had said earlier she knew it was his father's imminent visit. She could understand that: Lucius Malfoy was not a nice man by any stretch of the imagination, and she could only begin to imagine his anger at Draco breaking a rule. And not just a small, insignificant rule either… But that led her back to the question of why he had broken that rule in the first place, why he had helped him, what could possibly motivate him, a Slytherin and son of a Death Eater, to betray his upbringing and help his worst enemies…

And she couldn't answer those questions. However hard she thought, her mind just went round in circles until images began creeping in, images of Harry and Ron, what would happen… which would die, how it would happen…

No. She wouldn't think about that, couldn't think about that: it would drive her insane. She forced herself to look at Draco, to concentrate on him, simply because he was the only distraction available. And not, in a superficial sense, bad to look at…

She had never seen him act like this. At Hogwarts, he was always the perfect, smug, self-important Slytherin; the bully, the mocker, the one who existed to sneer and scowl at them, taunting them, ridiculing them. But here, here in this dungeon, he was…

She never had time to think of an adjective. A footstep sounded, close this time, and Draco's head shot up, eyes widening. The passage of the footsteps was clipped and precise, like the ticking of a clock, as they made their way down the corridor. Hermione instinctively moved away from the door, glancing at Draco. Their eyes met.

And parted again, but in that split second she had seen something, something afraid yet brave, weak but strong, but there was no time to think of that because the footsteps had stopped and the door swung open, and there stood Lucius Malfoy, carrying his wand already, striding impressively into the cell and closing the door behind him.

'Morning, Father.' Draco said, and now his whole manner had changed like a chameleon. Instead of being tense, he now seemed relaxed. His speech had no hint of nervousness in it, and his eyes held nothing more than a glint. A mask. He was acting.

'Indeed.' Lucius replied, voice flat and level. 'Not, however a particularly good one. Why,' he asked, eyes suddenly flickering and his voice gaining anger, 'did you disobey a direct order of the Dark Lord's? You knew that your place was to remain inside the school. Yet you deliberately chose to leave it. Your excuse had better be a very good one.'

Hermione took one glance at Lucius' eyes and regretted it. They were glacial, each one a single shard of ice. She shivered, backing away from him, hoping he didn't see her. 

Draco, on the other hand, was keeping up his complacent act. Rather than look at his father, he began to study his perfect fingernails. 'Why do you think I left the school, father?'

'If I knew, do you think I'd be here?' His eyes took on a degree more sharpness. 'As admirable a job as you are doing of not showing your true feelings, you can drop the immature pretences, Draco. I will have none of that. It will be far easier on you in the long run if you avoid aggravating me and simply tell me what in Hell's name you were doing.'

Draco shrugged casually, dropping his hand to his lap. 'I thought you'd have figured it out for yourself.'

'Perhaps you could explain it to me?' His voice was like the sound of silk being dragged over a knife edge; Hermione shuddered.

'Common sense, Father.' Draco replied, examining the skin on the backs of his hands now. He was avoiding looking at Lucius, she realised. 'Work it out. What could possibly make me break a direct order from the wondrous Dark Lord? Why would anyone have left the school grounds?'

'The only reasons,' Lucius replied, temper growing short, 'are to escape the spell or to counter-attack. You had no need of the former, and no Malfoy would be so stupid as to attempt the latter.'

For a moment, Draco was utterly silent.

'How sure are you of that?' he asked at last, his voice soft. With a sickening twist of her stomach, Hermione saw Lucius' hand clench around the wand he carried.

'_Explain_.' The one word, an order, was hissed as though the foulest word there was, with sheets of frozen anger waiting behind it…

Now, at last, Draco looked up to meet and hold Lucius' gaze. 'Remember Ceros?' he asked, his voice so soft, so calm, that Hermione wondered how he managed it, how he was still acting. Maybe he wasn't acting any more; maybe he'd gone so far through fear that he'd come out on the far side, so afraid he couldn't feel it. 'Remember her? Before she died, I made her a promise. I promised I'd not let something like that happen again. I promised her not to let you or the other Death Eaters or Voldemort himself get away with something like that again, if I could help it. And I intend to keep that promise.'

Draco closed his eyes, his face still looking so strangely peaceful. A million questions formed in Hermione's mind – what was all this? Who was Ceros? Something like what? – but there was no time, for Lucius' anger was building in the room with the charge of a thunderstorm. 

Draco spoke again. 'You don't need to say anything.' He said, almost a whisper in the deathly silent cell. 'I'm a disgrace to the Malfoy name, I'm not fit to be your son, I'm no better than a Mudblood, so on and so forth. And _I don't care_.'

On the last three words, his eyes flew open, silver-grey and hard as steel, determined now, she calmness not replaced but augmented, sharpened, by something strange, something so familiar to Hermione but so alien to Draco's face. And yet, it fit him perfectly.

Lucius, white-hot anger radiating off him in waves, raised his wand. The one word he spoke, as he pointed the wand at Draco, was so full of venom and hate and disgust that it struck almost as hard as the spell itself; '_Crucio_.'

Instantly, Draco crumpled into a ball on the floor, gasping with the pain. Hermione bit her lip, forcing herself to look away but unable to block out the sounds, the half-screams and muffled cries, unable to stop her eyes moving upwards of their own accord to him, his body shaking with the pain, curled tightly into a ball against the suffering. She wanted to speak out, to cry, 'Stop!', but knew she couldn't, knew she had to hold her tongue or make things worse…

After a minute or so, an endless, eternal minute, Lucius cut the spell, releasing Draco from his torment. The silver-haired boy, so like his father yet so different, gasped for breath, lying on the floor on his belly. Lucius was not finished yet.

'_Seca._' He hissed next, making a slashing motion in the air with his wand. A thin ray of light shot from the end of his wand, span through the air and slashed across Draco's arm, splashing bright crimson blood through the air. Draco didn't make a sound. Hermione wondered if he were unconscious, or even dead – don't think that – until she saw his eyes, open and watching, silently speaking volumes.

Two more slashes joined the first, and still Draco made no noise, the horrible silence broken only by the soft patter of blood on stone. Finally, Lucius pocketed the wand, and Hermione breathed an inward sigh of relief. Those gashed looked nasty, not to mention the Cruciatius… 

Lucius walked slowly and precisely to stand in front of his son. His footsteps were the only sound in the incredibly silent room. He towered above Draco, who was sprawled on the floor, head pressed to the ground. Lucius stood inches from his face.

With an obvious effort, Draco lifted his head up, to glare at his father with the filthiest look Hermione had ever seen. It was dark, and raged red-hot with anger, vile and filled with bitterness. Yet she couldn't say it was without justification.

In one swift, sharp movement, Lucius kicked Draco in the face.

Without a word, he turned and swept out of the room, the door slamming finally behind him. Hermione, shocked and alarmed, scrambled to Draco's side.

'Draco, Draco, are you alright?'

'Yes.' He replied simply, pushing himself up with one hand, his other hand holding his face. Reflexively, Hermione caught at him and helped him upright, frowning in worry as she did.

'Here, let me see that…' she said, pulling his hand away from his face. He let her; whether he was too drained to protest or he actually didn't mind remained a mystery.

Hermione gasped at the torrent of blood that poured from Draco's nose. 'He didn't break it, did he?' she asked him fearfully.

'He'd better not have. I'm not going to have a crooked nose for the rest of my life.' Draco replied irritably. 'It hurts. But then everything hurts.' he added, with a wry half-amused smile. 

Hermione prodded the bone a little. 'It doesn't feel like it's broken.' She decided at last. 'But that' still a nasty nosebleed… Here, you need to pinch it until it stops. Like this.' She said, putting his fingers in the right place on his nose and squeezing them together. 'And you should lean against the wall, I keep thinking you'll crash to the ground…'

'Since when were you my nursemaid?' he asked, but complied, shuffling back to lean against the wall.

'And tilt your head back, it'll help the bleeding. And I need to find something to stop these other cuts bleeding… Oh, I hate your father, I really do!'

Draco didn't reply to this remark; just raised an intrigued eyebrow. Somehow, he managed to exude a smug air of maddening superiority even with blood cascading from his nose and various wounds. Hermione tore some pieces off the bottom of her robe – it was too long anyway, she told herself – and used them to tie up Draco's various wounds. It was what they did in books and films; she only hoped it worked in real life too.

A few minutes passed like this – Draco with his head tilted back, clamping his nose shut, and Hermione kneeling anxiously near his side. She wanted to do something – reach out, perhaps, comfort him, say something – but what could she say? He was still Draco, after all… she doubted a hug and a smile would go down well.

'Are you- '

'Fine.' He interrupted, knowing what her question would be. 'I'm fine. It's nothing.'

'It's not nothing. What he did… It's…' Hermione was at a loss for words. 'I mean, he used the Cruciatius on you… and when he kicked you…'

Draco didn't reply to this, just shrugged. 'I think my nose stopped bleeding.' He remarked, taking his hand away. 

'It has.' she agreed, and then had nothing else to say. An edgy silence fell as Hermione struggled in vain to find something to say. A mixture of the shock over what Lucius had done and Draco's natural air of unfeeling left her at a complete loss of anything to say.

It was Draco, oddly, who ended the predicament.

'For goodness' sake, Hermione.' he said irritably. 'Stop _worrying_. There's nothing wrong with me a bit of rest won't cure, and these wounds will heal in a few weeks. Might leave a scar, in which case I'll end up in Azkaban for patricide, but that's not an immediate problem.

Hermione shook her head sadly, looking away. 'But the things he did… I mean… how can anyone do that?'

'It's nothing special.' Draco sighed. 'I half expected him to kill me on the spot. In my opinion, I got off lightly. Barring, of course, the very great possibility that he's going to come back later and finish me off. Oh, and the scarring.'

Not knowing quite what to say to this, Hermione stared at him. 'But… but he… Draco, he tortured you! You can't say that's getting off lightly!'

He shrugged. 'With my father it is.'

'But that's… I mean… Has he done this kind of thing before?' she asked. While she'd obviously known that Lucius practically tortured Muggles as a hobby, she'd never imagined that same brutality extending towards his own son. In her mind, Draco had always been the sneering spoilt kid who got everything he wanted, whose father bought him his place on the Quidditch team. Not loved, obviously, but…

But not tortured, not like this. Draco didn't reply, looking at the air straight in front of him, his face seemingly empty, as emotionless as though carved in stone, but his eyes told it all.

'He has, hasn't he?'

'My past doesn't matter.' he said sharply, and Hermione wisely realised that the topic was probably best left alone, for now at least.

Casting around for another topic, she remembered something he'd said to Lucius. A name, someone he'd said something about… Ceros. That was it.

'Who was Ceros?' she asked.

'No one.' He replied forcibly. 'I'm not talking about her.'

Hermione bit her lip. Her curiosity was screaming at her, demanding that she ask, demanding that she find out – an insatiable thirst for knowledge. And her curiosity was strong, that was how she'd learnt so much, always in and out of books trying to find out why, how, where, when, and a myriad other questions.

'I… Why not?' she asked. 'Why won't you?'

He gave her a hard look, crossing his arms defensively. 'Because I don't want to. I don't need to justify what I want to you.' But a note of hesitation underlined his voice, one which told Hermione that he wasn't sure, he'd considered telling her, and if she could just persuade him…

And this was more than curiosity, more than just wanting to know for knowledge's sake. She wanted to… help. Something about him, the suffering she'd just witnessed, the brutality he kept so hidden, made her want to help. She'd have put out her arms and hugged him close if he hadn't been that kind of boy.

'You can tell me, you know.' She offered softly. 'I won't…  say anything about it, or judge you, or think less of you.'

'It's not that I'm worried about.' He sighed, leaning back against the wall and closing his eyes, looking suddenly rather pale and vulnerable.

'Then what are you worried about?' Hermione asked, frowning. 'I just want to…'

'Be nosy?' he enquired. 'Find out about me so you can gossip about it with the Gryffindors?'

'No!' Hermione denied, looking shocked. 'I wouldn't do that! I… I mean, it's personal. I would _never_ think of spreading that kind of thing around. Never.'

Draco turned his head away from her, dropping his argument. He spoke simply and wearily. 'Forget about it. Just don't ask.'

Hermione bit her lip, feeling uncertain. 'Are… are you sure? I mean, I don't want to…'

'For goodness' sake, will you not be quiet?' he exploded. 'Fine, I'll tell you. You obviously won't shut up any other way.'

Hermione felt a twinge of guilt, and was about to tell him not to relate the story if he didn't want to, but he'd already begun speaking. With his eyes shut, the blood marring his porcelain skin, his body half-curled as he spoke, he looked somehow vulnerable in a way that pulled hard at some place inside Hermione's chest.

'When I was five – or thereabouts, I'm not sure – my mother got pregnant again.' he told her. 'This time she had a girl. My sister, Ceros. I remember seeing her for the first time, when she was just two hours old…'

He broke off, sighed, and shook his head. Hermione did a quick mental reshuffle; for some reason she'd imagines Ceros as some kind of scarlet woman who Lucius had disapproved of. A sister? That put a whole new aspect on things…

 Still with his eyes closed, he carried on. 'We both grew older. My parents, you can probably guess, never had much time for us, so I would often be left to take care of her. With the house elves, of course. But still… Well, she was my little sister… I became quite attached to her, and she to me, when she was old enough for that kind of thing. But of course, my father found out about it… 

'He wasn't very approving of it, as you can imagine, and he decided to take advantage of it – she was four, I was nine. He began using her to get to me – if I did something wrong, or made a mistake, or anything, he'd hurt her. You can see where that leads… Eventually, he killed her. I was there, in the room, when he did it… and I knew he'd gone to far, there was too much blood, but I didn't know how to stop it…'

For a moment, he froze in his recital. His voice didn't choke, and his body didn't shudder, and his face was still in as perfect a mask as ever, but Hermione could sense how he felt and remained respectfully quiet. She'd had no idea of this, none at all… how could Lucius… it was unspeakable, sickening. Killing his daughter, his own flesh and blood, to hurt his son… How could any human being do that?

'Before she died,' Draco continued, 'she asked me to promise her something. To promise that I wouldn't stand by and let my father or the Death Eaters or Voldemort do that again if I could stop it. Hurt someone, I mean. Kill them… And I promised.' His eyes flew open at last; they were no more than silvery mirrors. 'That's why I came with you, by the way. To stop Voldemort hurting people.'

He seemed to have finished. Closing his eyes again, he leant back and rested his head against the wall. Hermione, sitting beside him, hadn't a clue what to say. There seemed even fewer words than before for what she'd just been told. It didn't seem real, as though she'd just dreamed it all; but there was Draco next to her, bloodstained and weary, bleeding and aching where his own father had hurt him. His own father…

'I never knew…' she whispered softly, more to herself than Draco.

'Of course you never knew.' He snapped. 'I never told anyone. And if you tell anyone about this, anyone at all…'

This was more familiar ground. 'I understand.' She assured him. 'And I won't tell anyone. I just… He _killed_ her…'

'Yes, he killed her.' Draco said, his voice heavy. 'Forget it, Hermione, it isn't important.'

'Yes it is. It means…' She broke off. It meant that Draco was a completely different person to who she had once thought, with a completely different background and feelings… When was it they'd set out to save the school? She didn't know. Not long, certainly. It felt like weeks.

With a strange twang in her stomach, Hermione realised that she would never think of Draco in the same way again. He wasn't the same person to her anymore. And if he wasn't the same person, she had to ask herself: who was he now?

It was a difficult question to answer. He was Draco. Someone she wanted to help. Someone who had a horrible life, someone she felt sad for, at the same time as feeling amazement that he could have come through it. A mystery, an enigma, a puzzle she would never solve. Someone who maybe wasn't as horrible as she'd once thought. Someone with, maybe, a sense of humour – a vague, cruel and sarcastic one at times, but still. Someone she…

Hermione shook her head, clearing it of the confusing thoughts to focus on the here and now. Musings of exactly who he was now could wait till later; now Draco was sitting there staring into space, a melancholy look on his face. The urge to hug him welled in her again, and before she could stop herself she had cautiously slid one arm around him and rested her head on his shoulder.

He tensed. 'What on earth are you doing?'

She felt somehow silly and stupid, but persevered. Moving away now could make the situation stranger. 'Giving you a hug?' she volunteered.

'I don't need a hug.'

Hermione paused before answering. 'Maybe… maybe I need to give you one.'

He didn't reply to this, and as she sat there with him the awkwardness vanished, replaced by a quiet companionship, replaced by a sleepy stupor on Hermione's part. Her arm stayed around him, her head on his shoulder, but as she drifted into dreams and sagged against him she felt for a moment his arm around her, supporting her. She smiled in her sleep.

~*~

**Latin:** 'Seca' – Latin for 'Cut!' Oh, and 'Ceros' is a shortened form of the word for 'unicorn', because 'Monoceros' makes her sound like some kind of mythological monster. The reasoning behind 'unicorn' is that she's innocent and 'pure' – not a part of the whole Dark Arts and evilness. It's also carrying on the mythological animals theme started with Draco. Draco = dragon, (mono)Ceros = unicorn… Yeah.

**A/N:** According to my beta, that was a 'sweet' ending.

You know what would make it sweeter? Reviews!

Ok, ok, I beg for them every time, but I live on feedback. Seriously. I print them out and use them as sandwich fillings.

You do realise I'm still writing this with pus oozing out of my arm from an injection? That, about two weeks after my BCG inoculation, a friend who shall remain nameless bashed me violently on the injection site, causing possibly the most pain I've felt in my life (not saying much as I've never broken any bones or anything) and bursting the skin, causing a foul yellowish pus to start oozing out? That it's still very painful, not to mention itchy? And I'm still sitting here and writing all this for you?

I'm trying to guilt you into reviewing. Did it work?


	9. Feeling

_Magnanimous Chapter 9 – Feeling_

**Disclaimer:** Not Mine. JKR owns all the characters, unfortunately.

**Thanks for 174 reviews goes to:** Chiinoyami-chan (x2), willowfairy, Lyra Silvertongue2, Georgina, Emerald Raven, Wormmon ABC, Saotoshi, animegirl-mika, Oz1, airotci, Kou Shun'u, chintamani, KrystyWroth, Sam8, Hermione182, Rebecca15, mutsumi, angkat14, Flexi Lexi (x2), willowwiccantara, cuppy, Vfoxy713, bella orchid, Jade-Jaganashi.

A/N: This chapter has a special dedication: to my sister, Lydia, who was married last year and recently told us that she's **_pregnant_**!!! My little niece-or-nephew will be here around late May. I'm very, very, very excited, unsurprisingly!!!

Onto more fic-related notes: I made an advertising-poster for Fallen. If you go to my profile and click on the link under 'Homepage' it'll take you to the poster. Hope you like! I've not done much writing lately, being at my sisters all weekend, and thus my efforts are concentrated on this fic. As it should be!

I have to say this is one of my favourite chapters – for the end scene alone. Am pleased with that scene; normally bad at scenes of that type. But that would be giving it away…

Enjoy!

~*~

They hadn't run into many obstacles in the past half-hour or so, something that put both Ron and Harry even more on edge. Glancing around themselves, they both half-expected some new and horrible curse to attack them without warning, or a vile creature to be lying in wait.

An icy winter's dawn was approaching, which meant it must be around seven o'clock. The stars were fading, and the black velvet of the sky was lightening, turning grey. Around them, the birds were beginning to awaken, chirping their dawn songs like the beginning of any other day. Suddenly it all seemed very silly, trudging through the pleasant, familiar grounds at dawn, the grass damp with dew and the birdsong all around. It ought to have been a dark and scary wood, silent and menacing, with distant rumbles of thunder punctuating the mood.

It looked like a perfect winter's day, crisp and cold. The strange, sharp beam of light still hung above their heads, shoring the way, the only thing out of place.

Ron glanced up to the beam, his eyes following the long line to the horizon, distant and half shrouded in the morning mist. But there was something odd… Yes, he realised with a surge of excitement; it was real. He could see, distant but plainly visible, the point where the strand of light separated; one strand leading them to the tower, and one heading off in another direction, surrounding the school.

The prospect of what they were doing suddenly became very chillingly real. What were they thinking? Going up to the tower and turning off the power source? Impossible! But… The alternative was to let the entire school, students and teachers, lose all their magic. The alternative was to leave Hogwarts powerless to stop the murder of each and every one of them by Voldemort. There was no choice; however insane their actions were, it had to be done.

Oddly fortified, Ron kept onwards, eyes fixed firmly on the junction, as the pale morning light spilled across the sky.

~*~

The same light was tentatively slanting its way into Hermione and Draco's cell, spreading across the white surfaces, stretching towards the place where they were. It touched Hermione's face first, causing her to stir slightly in her sleep, but not to wake. She still lay where she had fallen asleep, her cheek resting on Draco's shoulder, one arm reaching sleepily across him. His arm was still around her.

And now, as the dawn light melted the shadows to nothing, it slanted softly across Draco's face, lighting his pale skin and revealing his open eyes.

He hadn't slept all night, he realised as he glanced towards the golden glow. Strange. But then, he had been thinking… and time was so easily forgotten when a thousand questions and ideas and vague, half-formed thoughts were whirling through his mind.

Hermione shifted slightly, the movement drawing Draco's attention away from the impending morning and back to the girl half-lying on his chest. How long ago was it that they'd been bitter enemies? Again, he'd lost all sense of time. It could have been a minute, it could have been a thousand years; it felt like both.

If she'd been an enemy, however long ago it had been, then what was she now?

He didn't know; it was just another of the myriad questions that plagued his mind. He sighed softly, so as not to wake her, looking down at her again and searching for a question he could answer.

He had told her everything. Why? Ceros had been his secret, something he'd never told anyone, hiding the old but never-forgotten pain deep, deep inside himself until even he had almost forgotten it. And then the Dark Lord's plan had awakened the old promise and with it, echoes of the pain. Dulled, but still unbearable. 

Maybe he was going mad. That would explain it. Why he'd told her such things, why there was so much he couldn't work out… But even as he thought it, he knew he was completely sane, just trying to rationalise something he didn't understand.

She looked different when she was sleeping. Most people did, probably, but he didn't spend much time watching them. Hermione looked… peaceful. Happy, even. It was quite a contrast to the way he'd seen her lately, in the eternity or the heartbeat since this madness had begun. She'd been worried, shocked, upset, terrified, angry… but he hadn't seen her like this yet, so simple and serene. 

Childlike. Ceros had looked the same, when she'd slept.

He wondered what she looked like normally, when she wasn't caught up in some mad scheme to single-handedly save the whole of Hogwarts from Voldemort. He really knew very little about her. She was good at school, loved her work… perfect Miss Hermione. Did she spend long hours slaving over books, or did learning come naturally to her? If she worked, then why – out of an urge to perform well, a love of learning, what? Which subjects did she take? Did she do her homework religiously, every piece finished on the night she got it, or did she sometimes leave things to the last minute? What did she do when she wasn't working? More accursed questions, he realised.

And another question, perhaps the most important, but also the most unanswerable – why did he care?

A strand of her hair had fallen into her eyes; absentmindedly, he brushed it back, his fingertips skimming her smooth skin. One point in her favour – she wasn't prone to spots, unlike some of the girls he'd seen. Her eyes were quite pretty, if you bothered to look, and her hair wasn't that bad once you got used to it… And her teeth didn't stick out anymore, why hadn't he noticed that before now? She was quite intellectual as well, not like the group of girls he cruelly labelled as, 'ditzy airheads'…

… and what was the point of all this?

Any more of these random questions and thoughts and he'd have the mother of all headaches, he thought grimly. And by now, the light was streaming through the windows, lighting up the room. He ought to sleep.  He ought to. But, of course, he couldn't, not until these questions had stopped plaguing him. Sighing, he went back to staring at Hermione's face, a myriad shards of thought crashing through his mind, shards which he could reform into a whole, make sense of, if only he could figure out how they all fit together…

~*~

A few hours later, the initial glow of happiness Ron had felt at seeing the sunrise had completely vanished. The low winter sun was shining right in his eyes, far too bright for the time of year, half blinding him. Added to this were the seeming miles they had walked across the wilderness; he was sure they would never find their way back again. And then, of course, there was Harry; the pain of which it seemed would never diminish… 

Harry's goal in the obstacle-laden trek seemed to be to ignore Ron as much as possible. He would speak when absolutely necessary, when the circumstances grew life threatening – which happened a lot – and intervene to help only if Ron was about to die, such as the situation on the bridge. The rest of the time, it was eyes straight ahead, tense against any kind of speech or attempt at smoothing things over, ignoring him completely. 

It was not a pleasant feeling, being despised, Ron thought miserably. Half of him was getting quite fed up with this treatment, and kept strongly hinting that they should do something, _anything_ to break the oppressive tension. A screaming argument with Harry would be good, or simply walking away and leaving him to do it all alone…

But the other part urged patience. After all, an argument would only make things worse. And how could he leave Harry? For one thing, it was his fault that Harry was even here; he'd insisted on finding out about the teacher's plans. And they would be far more vulnerable alone, more prone to danger…  Harry would be dead if Ron hadn't saved him from that Lethifold, and Ron would be dead if Harry hadn't saved him from that bridge.

Ron's musings were rudely interrupted when he heard an unusual squelch from below his feet. Looking down, he saw that the grass was soaking wet and soggy. Strange. It had only been damp with dew earlier, and there had been no rain lately…

Then he looked closer, and his eyes widened. The grass was _dissolving_, fizzing slightly as it turned into piles of wet, formless green mush. Ron knew what this was; his father had been obsessed with it for a brief period, before the Muggle science had got too complicated for him and he'd moved on to electricity.

'Harry,' he said, quite calmly, 'we're walking in acid.'

Harry didn't even look up. 'There's not much. And it's not very concentrated.'

Ron wasn't exactly sure what he meant by 'concentrated', but Harry didn't seem too worried, so presumably they weren't in any great danger for now… He tried to remember what he'd picked up from his father's enthusiastic ramblings. There were indicators which changed colour – Dad had made a homemade kind from boiled red cabbage, the kitchen had stunk for weeks – and some measure of acidity. PE? PH? And it had looked strange, too, in the kid's textbook his Dad had excitedly shown him. The capital letters were funny. pH?

Still, whatever the letters were, it wasn't going to be much use here. And, he noticed nervously, the level was rising, and an ominous smell was beginning to rise from the ground…

'It's eating my shoes.' He remarked. 'Uh, it might not be anything to worry about… I don't know much about it… thought you should know…' His voice trailed off as the smell of melting rubber increased.

Harry stiffened.

'There's a rock over there.' He said at last, pointing to a place where a huge rock jutted out of the ground. 'We can climb on top of that for now.'

Relieved to be getting away from the acid-soaked ground, Ron complied, walking hurriedly after Harry to the rock. His shoes were beginning to feel rather thin; no doubt Harry's were too…

They reached the sanctuary of the rock, scrambled up onto it, safe for now. Ron unlaced his shoe and took it off to get a better look at the sole. It looked as though it had melted.

Suddenly aware of just how dangerous this stuff was, he shuddered. Imagine what that could do to _skin_… He kept a cautious eye on the level, and was alarmed to see that it was moving higher and higher. An inch high by now, no, more than that… two inches…

He clambered higher up the rock in alarm; beside him, Harry did the same. A horrible thought filled Ron's mind; what if it didn't stop, what if it kept on rising and rising and rising until it ate Harry and himself away… 

And then, he chanced to glance over his shoulder, and the sight turned him cold.

A wave of the stuff, deceptively water-like but deadly as knives, was rising from the horizon, a distant rumble approaching steadily with it. Ron's throat went dry with fear, everything suddenly numb.

'_Harry_…' he moaned in horror, pointing. 'The acid…'

Harry looked, freezing in fear like Ron. 'A barrier…' he said simply, as soon as he found his tongue, eyes never leaving the growing wave. 'A Shield charm… If both of us do it together…'

Ron nodded, getting a grip on himself, taking deep breaths. 'Alright.' he said, pulling out his wand and pointing it in the direction of the wave. 'Ready when you are…' The wave was getting worryingly close, the roar of a single sheet of acid rumbling ominously as it hurtled towards them…

Harry nodded. 'Now.'

'_Praesidium!_'

A shimmering blue light shot out of the ends of their wands, merging together to form the magical shield. It didn't look like much, not to protect them against the wave of acid that was steadily approaching, arching over their heads…

It crashed over the barrier with a noise like the shattering of Heaven. For one awful, terrible moment, the shield flickered; Ron thought it was going to break under the pressure, but it held… For how long?

And then the acid was gone, hurtling on towards the other horizon, leaving the two boys gasping in relief. The shield, never a long-lived charm, splintered, gave a final flicker and winked out.

'That was close.' Ron gasped, still staring after the receding wave. Harry didn't reply, and a horrible, bitter twist steeled once more in Ron's stomach as he remembered that however much they cooperated when danger struck, they were still not friends…

They waited on the rock for about half an hour, until Harry remarked casually, as if speaking to himself, that the acid appeared to have dried from the ground, and it was probably safe to carry on. Ron was the first to clamber down, and was glad to find that the ground was indeed safe. The grass, however, was utterly gone, leaving nothing but dirt behind.

Without a word, as usual, they carried on.

~*~

Hermione floated in the vague wordless state that exists on the border of sleeping and waking, where dreams and reality intertwine. There was light, shining on her eyelids, pleasant warmth surrounding her, and something comfortable but peculiar on which she was resting. Strange shaped, with oddly placed hard bits… The one thing you mustn't do in the half-dream state is to think too hard, because if you think, you wake up.

Hermione thought: what am I lying on?

And then, in the instant between slumber and wakefulness, she knew the answer. She was leaning on _Draco_.

Her eyes flew wide open as the memories of the previous night streamed back. She was half sitting, half lying on Draco, who was leaning against the wall, stopping her from slumping painfully to the harsh floor with one arm around her back. The other arm was loosely rested on top of her. Her head was on his shoulder, and she could feel his breath tickle her hair.

Her reaction to this was one of acute embarrassment. She could feel her face flushing, and she was aware of a strange tingle in her stomach…

'Morning.' said Draco, sounding… amused? Irritated? Bored? She couldn't tell.

'Morning.' She replied, feeling her face burn even darker. She remained silent and unmoving for several seconds, feeling flustered, embarrassed, and… dizzy. The last one of that group didn't make sense, but it was there; a peculiar light-headedness, like the world was only half there. Maybe she had caught something? She was breathing too fast…

'Maybe I should get up…' she suggested softly. Draco, who had been motionless up till now, made no sound – presumably he nodded – and moved his arm, allowing her to scramble out of the awkward position.

Hermione sat down a short distance away, leaning against the wall and trying to catch her breath. She must be ill, she frowned… she was breathing as hard as if she'd just run a race, and her heart rate, when she pressed two fingers to her wrist, was the same. She considered voicing this to Draco, but kept silent… It might be nothing…

And indeed, after a few minutes she realised that her pulse had dropped to a more normal rate, and her breathing was once again calm and controlled. Odd. Maybe it was the embarrassment… yes that would explain it…

She glanced up at Draco, and was startled to see his eyes flash quickly away from her.  He'd been looking at her? She frowned, eyes on his face – which was annoyingly blank – as she tried to puzzle it out. Well, it probably wasn't surprising… she was the most interesting thing in the room. Not much of an achievement in a bare, white-walled cell.

He glanced up at her again, and she jumped guiltily, tearing her eyes away. Then she realised she'd just done the exact same thing that he had, and defiantly raised her eyes again, but he had already looked away. She decided to break the silence with an attempt at conversation.

'Are you alright?' she asked, referring to his injuries of the night before – and anything emotional, of course, but she knew he'd never talk about that kind of thing. Draco gave a short but elegant nod, glancing up at her, and again her eyes shied away from his.

There was a strange tingle to the air, like the charge before a thunderstorm. Hermione's pulse kept beating oddly – at times it settled down, only to pick up again. Her breath would catch in her throat. She felt restless, and kept shifting on the floor, and it was only after half an hour that she realised she was curled up defensively. Defending herself against what?

Draco was acting oddly too. He kept looking at her and glancing away when she glanced up. From what she observed, staring at him out of the corner of her eye, he was trying to puzzle something out. Something to do with her. But that was nonsense: he was the puzzling one… He'd notice her gaze, sometimes, causing her to look quickly away and pretend to be staring into space.

Several times, she tried a brave stab at conversation; but he seemed untalkative. When Malevium shoved the meal in through the narrow doorway with a curse and a foul glare, Draco had little appetite; he barely touched the soup. After half an hour, Hermione realised that she'd been so caught up watching him that her own soup was cold; she ended up leaving more than half.

And all the time, that odd, restless air hung over them both, making them edgy. It felt as if some force was building in the room, some power, and that soon it would explode. Something big was building.

Hermione glanced over to Draco once more, and decided to brave the attempt at another conversation. 'Are you sure your nose is alright? It looks a little swollen…'

He did look a little alarmed at this, causing her to laugh; a strange, foreign laugh that wasn't her own. 'Don't worry, Draco, I'm sure it won't mar your good looks.'

She blushed a furious crimson, holding a hand to her mouth as if not believing what she'd just said. Draco looked up at her, grinned, then laughed aloud.

'Which, of course, are my top priority.' He'd used some of the glass of water they'd had with the chicken to make a half-hearted attempt at cleaning the blood from his face, with partial success. Now he reached up a finger and tentatively prodded the appendage. 'I see what you mean, it does feel a bit swollen…'

Hermione smiled despite herself; it was the most he'd said all morning. 'I'll come and look at it for you.' She offered without thinking, shuffling along the floor to Draco's side.

This close to him, she began breathing too quickly again, and the strange electrical feeling doubled. She could hear her pulse throbbing in her ears. Tentatively, not quite sure of what she was doing, she reached out to his nose.

His skin was warm, and soft. Somehow she'd never quite appreciated how much detail a fingertip could feel. Every millimetre of his skin was filled with features, standing out bold in her mind. Suddenly, she felt quite light-headed, as if the world had fallen away from her.

'It feels alright.' Hermione said softly, barely able to speak in more than a whisper. She was suddenly aware of just how dry her mouth was. Glancing upwards, her eyes met his with a shock; his silvery-grey eyes glistened in the sunlight, so pure, so blank on top, and underneath… Underneath sparkled a myriad things, and the things were thoughts and feelings, too complex and too sacred for anyone to put more then the broadest of names to. She couldn't have broken his gaze even if she had wanted to.

She was aware of her hand, sliding – not under her control – away from his nose, across his smooth skin, down his cheek. She was aware of his hand, coming up to cover her own as she pressed it to his skin, and of his other hand, coming up behind her and tangling itself in her hair, the back of her head, and then moving forwards…

Their lips met.

It was an explosion, the explosion promised by the mounting electricity, which had suddenly reached a critical mass and melted into this. This was fire, this was ice, this was blinding light and absolute darkness, this was black and white. Gryffindor and Slytherin. Every second glittered and sparkled and burned as though an eternity had been compressed into a heartbeat, every touch, every taste was infinity.

Well, this explained why her pulse had been so erratic… 

The kiss broke – who broke it, she didn't know – allowing her to gasp for breath and try to stop the world spinning. Her eyes flew open – she hadn't been aware of closing them – and a kind of reality returned. She could taste copper – his blood, the blood which still marred his lip.

'Draco…' she whispered, when she had breath enough to do so. 'Why…?'

There were a thousand possible whys she could have asked, but Draco interrupted. 'I don't _care_ why.' He told her, leaning in once more.

This kiss was harder. A bolt of lightening thundered through her at the meeting of lips on lips, and she let herself dissolve into the frightening, fearful sensation. She could hear her heart pounding in her ears as though she'd run a marathon, taste the copper tang of his lips, smell the reassuring smell of his skin close to hers. She was clinging to Draco's shoulders, as though she'd fall and lose herself if she didn't hold on to something real, something sane; the fabric wrinkled under her grip. The kiss brought out something dark in her, something not evil but not good, something that had existed before man invented the concept of good and evil. It was frightening, but she didn't want it to end.

When the kiss finally did break, she was amazed to find both herself and Draco lying on the floor, side by side. They didn't speak –what could be said? – but lay together, side by side and pressed together. Hermione closed her eyes, arms around him, listening to his erratic breathing calm. The kisses replayed themselves behind her eyelids, explosions in her mind, until memory turned into dreams and she slept once more.

~*~

**Latin:** 'Praesidium' means 'shield.'

**A/N:** *very big grin* I'm normally very, very bad at kissing scenes. But I'm pleased with that one. It went well.

I'm not going to guilt you into reviewing; hopefully the kissing was enough to persuade you to drop me some feedback…


	10. Raging

_Magnanimous Chapter 10 – Raging_

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything in the Harry Potter world. They all belong to J.K.Rowling. Just borrowing them for a while…

**Thanks for 194 reviews goes to:** Flexi Lexi, airotci, animegirl-mika (happy birthday!), Paganicewand, angkat14, Oz1, Vfoxy713, willowfairy, Chiinoyami-chan, aliveforever83(x2),  heavengurl899, bella orchid, jules37, Kersten Cheyne(x2), saj aneri, rebecca15,  WormmonABC!

**A/N:** First of all, I'd like to warn you that this chapter is scary. It scared me to write it, and one of my friends, when reading it earlier today, actually threw it down and ran out of the room screaming. She did come back and finish it off though, and said it was good, so don't worry!

This chapter comes with dedication to Georgina, who was my muse in a time of need/writer's block. Georgina, you rock. Yes, you really do. Don't you dare deny it!

That said, enjoy the chapter everyone!

~*~

The winter sun shone down, strong and warm for the time of year. It was a strange clash of sensations, Harry thought dully: the ice-laden wind burnished their skin with cold while the golden sun warmed it. 

Beside him, Ron sighed again, making Harry frown with a mixture of annoyance and guilt. He kept trying to ignore Ron; it was the least painful thing he could do. Every time he was reminded of Ron's presence, it hurt; like stamping on a sprained ankle or catching the scab on a wound.

His initial anger was cooling now, and replacing it was a mixture of irritability and a peculiar kind of guilt. The guilt came from Ron's obvious misery; he didn't hate Ron, and didn't actually want him to suffer. Harry would far prefer Ron to be happy. The fact that he was causing his friend pain – even though it was Ron's own fault – made him guilty, and the guilt only added to the annoyance.

Ron's voice spoke from behind him, a pathetic and miserable voice that set the guilt and the exasperation churning again. 'Harry…'

'What?'

Harry wasn't looking directly at Ron. That would have added to the pain; even at the sound of his voice, echoes of what Ron had said before came back to haunt him, and he flinched. He heard Ron draw in a breath, could feel the pleading in his voice.

'Harry, you know I didn't mean to say it. I was angry, I acted stupidly… For goodness' sake, can't you just forget about it? I really didn't mean to say it… I didn't…'

When he replied, Harry's voice sounded wavy and vague to himself, as though he were speaking from far away. 'I can't.'

This seemed to be the end of the discussion. For a minute, they trudged on through the winter landscape, silent but for the thump of their footsteps and the occasional distant calling of a bird. The silence was shattered when Ron spoke, carrying on the conversation as though there had been no pause at all.

'Why can't you?'

'Because I _can't_.' Harry answered irritably.

Another pause; shorter but more intense than the last.

'Harry, please…' began Ron, but Harry had had enough. Whirling around, he began to speak, his voicesteady but with anger behind every syllable.

'Look, Ron, forgiveness isn't something you can just do. You can't decide to forgive someone; you have to wait until it comes naturally. So be damn well patient!'

Ron seemed startled by Harry's sudden outburst, and drew back with a pain in his eyes that glittered like shattered glass. Without a word, he nodded, not meeting Harry's eyes.

Harry turned away, the sudden eruption of anger already ebbing, and turned to walk on. Why was all this so much more complicated than it looked…?

They carried on. The silence returned again, the horrible, uncomfortable silence of two people not speaking to each other. Harry concentrated on ignoring the echoes of the past that still whispered at the back of his mind – they rarely ceased. Whenever he managed to think about something other than Sirius or their imminent arrival at the tower, which wasn't an easy task, Ron would invariably sigh, or sniff, or scuff his shoe along the ground, jerking Harry back to the real world and the memories that besieged him.

Subconsciously, Harry began to play a kind of game. Everyone has one, something they learnt to do as a child, something that becomes second nature. Some people like to play games with the cracks in paving stones, some will make themselves do everything two times, some will try to walk perfectly in time with another person.

Harry's game had been born from a mixture of fun and survival. Simply put, he made himself listen – truly listen – to the silence, pinpointing every noise, listening for every rustle of leaves, every crack of a twig. How many times had he done this, chased by Dudley and his gang, hiding somewhere and listening intently for any tell-tale sound that would give him warning of discovery… Now, of course, Dudley was far away, and it had turned into a habit or a game.

It was amazing how many sounds there were, if you listened. The thud of his and Ron's feet on the hard ground was almost deafening. He could hear himself breathing, his blood pulsing through his ears. Ron's breath was distant, hard to pick out, but audible. Then there were the million and one sounds of nature: birds calling, wind blowing, leaves crackling, animals running through the grass…

Another sound; a faint one. A little like wind, but rushing faster, and getting louder, coming closer… Harry looked over his shoulder, shouted in shock, and dodged to one side with reflexes born of Quidditch training.

A red bolt of light shot past, millimetres from Harry's head, and crashed into a tree behind them. Ron swore loudly; Harry glanced at the tree and saw that the leaves were silent and immobile, coloured an unnatural kind of grey; the entire thing had turned to stone.

His heart began to thud loudly in his ears, pumping adrenalin-laden blood through his body. Turning, the world suddenly in slow motion, he saw a dark-robed figure. A Death Eater, face hidden in in the shadows of his hood, wand raised and pointing towards them.

Harry's hand was on his own wand instantly, drawing it, holding it ready. Wordlessly, he tensed; ready for whatever the Death Eater would throw at them. He didn't think – didn't let himself think – about what would happen, about curses and counter-curses and hexes, about the danger they both stood in. If he let himself think about that, it would draw his mind back, back to Sirius, back to fighting in the Department of Mysteries… No. Better to push thinking aside, to fight by instinct and adrenalin.

The Death Eater pointed his wand at Ron this time, rasped a harsh and bitter, '_Glaciemanus_!' Cyan-blue light shot towards Ron, who wasn't expecting the curse; shouting, he tried to dodge, but it struck home. His wand hand went first white, then blue, and a thin coating of frost covered the flesh. He yelled in shock and pain.

Harry didn't take his eyes off the figure, but pointed his wand at Ron. '_Calidus_.' He said, amazed at how calm his voice sounded. A shimmering yellow cloud poured out of the end of his wand, hovered through the icy air to Ron's hand, surrounding it. The frost melted, and Ron's hand returned to normal.

Harry had no illusions about the rest of the duel; it would not be so easy. He knew full well that curse had been nothing, a test, like a cat playing with a mouse. His gaze never left the hooded, robed figure, focused completely on him, the wand in his hand…

'Not bad.' The figure said, mockingly, and Harry realised it was a woman's voice, dark and rich and somehow familiar. 'But it will take far more than that to defeat me.'

'I can do far more than that.' Harry replied, and again his voice lacked any hint of the vivid fear that seized him. 'You won't win.'

'Really?' The woman replied, giving an amused little laugh that sent cold shivers up Harry's spine. 'I seem to remember I won quite decisively the last time we met, Harry.'

The use of his first name was patronising, condescending, the very tone of it mocking. Harry's eyes narrowed to emerald slits. He recognised that voice, knew it instinctively… where had he heard it before?

'Who are you?' he demanded. 'Show yourself.'

The woman laughed again, a hard and cruel laugh. Keeping her wand arm outstretched, pointing at the boys, she raised one strangely delicate hand to the folds of her hood. The black fabric fell to her shoulders, revealing the smirking face of Bellatrix Lestrange.

Harry gasped as though the wind had been knocked out of him; Ron gaped in amazement. 'You!'

Bellatrix's eyes glittered malevolently. 'I'm so very glad to meet you again, Harry.' She said, ignoring Ron. Those eyes, those wild evil eyes, dragged Harry back down, down through every single night he'd woken screaming and sweat-soaked and wide-eyed with horror, to the memories…

Corridors. The Department of Mysteries. The archway, black-veiled. Whispers. The orb containing the Prophecy. His friends in pain. And a cruel, cruel laugh. The laugh of the woman who stood in front of him. A jet of red light. _Sirius_…

With the memories returned the hate, and the pain, and the guilt, and most of all the anger. It rose in him, spreading from the base of his spine, along and up, circling his ribcage, throttling his heart with hot black wrath. It roared through every blood vessel, along veins and arteries and capillaries, every cell taking up its fiery battle cry. Every sinew was infused with it, every nerve alive with fury, the burning maddening heat of it overpowering his brain, sending him insane with rage. 

Without thinking about it, Harry's lips moved, formed a name – _Sirius_ – though no sound came out; his throat was choked with rage and bitter pain. His eyes, flame-filled and shining like broken glass, met Bellatrix's cruel, malicious gaze. The anger swirled and welled up inside him, burst out of him, and he found his tongue.

'You _killed_ him!' he screamed, blinded with fury, 'You killed Sirius! You killed him!' Without thought – anger left no room for it – he flew at her, not caring that she was a Death Eater, not caring that she held a wand, not caring about anything but the anger, the desire to hurt her, to see the woman who killed Sirius suffer, to hear her scream…

A split second later, a Banishing charm from Bellatrix's wand sent him flying backwards into the hard stone tree. He hit it with a vicious thud, before crumpling to the ground. She laughed. 'Lost your head? Shame. I was hoping for a better opponent than that.'

Harry picked himself up from where he'd fallen, looked up at her, his eyes dark and angry and filled with hate. Nothing mattered but the anger, the dreadful craving to hurt her, to torture her, to make her suffer. From the corner of his eye, he saw Ron raise his wand, open his mouth to cast a spell. 

'No.' Harry rasped, glaring at Ron. 'Stay out of this!'

'But Harry…'

'It's my fight.' His jaw set, face contorted and twisted and bitter with pain, he turned back to the smirking figure in front of him. He raised his wand; with it, he had power, the power to hurt…

'_Enervatus!_' His voice was harsh, cruel, in a tone not his own, but he didn't notice and wouldn't have cared. Bellatrix blocked his spell – no matter, there was all the time in the world – and cast her own back. 

'_Runa_!'

Little shards of white light spat out of her wand. Harry muttered the shield charm, but the tiny darts pierced it, little comet tails flaring behind them. Swearing, he dodged quickly, Bellatrix's cruel laugh ringing in his ears. One of the shards struck his side. It stung like a needle, burnt like fire. Before she could get another spell in, he was ready.

'_Glubecutis_!' It was one he'd forgotten he knew, one he'd never thought to cast; a Dark spell he'd come across while researching for the DA. But anger gave him the will and the strength to cast it, and it shot straight and true towards Bellatrix. She, taken by surprise at the spell – it was certainly not one taught at Hogwarts – dodged to one side, but not by enough. It struck her left hand; the top layer of skin began to peel away.

'Bastard.' She hissed, raising her wand with the unaffected hand. '_Torqueo_!

The duel continued, fast-paced and heated, with Ron abandoned and forgotten on the sideline. The two enemies circled each other, crying out curses and hexes, blocking and dodging. Harry's fighting was fuelled by pure fury, by rage and adrenalin, by anger and the desire to kill. Bellatrix was playing with him, toying with him, and perhaps less on her guard than in a battle with an adult wizard.

Minutes passed, and still the duel continued. Harry was insane, his eyes flashing as he cast the Darkest, most evil spells he knew, driven endlessly by the desire to hurt Bellatrix. He ignored the wounds from her spells, ignored the pain, none of that mattered. All that mattered was hurting her as much as possible.

'_Seca._' He hissed next, making a slashing motion in the air with his wand. A thin ray of light span towards her, slicing through her shield and cutting deeply into her side. Blood began to spurt from the wound. It was the first time she had actually looked shocked, and Harry grinned darkly. Pain. Blood. Revenge.

He wanted more. Wanted to make her suffer; and he knew the spell to torture her, knew how to make her feel the pain he wanted her to feel, so what was stopping him? His eyes black with mad, unthinking anger, Harry pointed his wand at her again.

'_Crucio_.'

A flash of red light, no time to dodge; the spell hit home, and now with shock and fear in her eyes, Bellatrix crumpled to the floor, screamed in horrific pain. Harry's face split with a grin like a knife; at last, the vengeance, the pain he'd wanted her to feel…

A shout came from behind him, and something heavy thumped into his side, sending the world into a blur of sky and grass, knocking him to the floor with a thud. His wand hand was flung away from Bellatrix; his wand sent flying across the grass, and inwardly he howled at the injustice of it. She had to suffer, she had to suffer, he had to make her suffer for what she'd done…

A loud popping noise split the air with all the force of a cruel, sadistic laugh. Bellatrix was gone, Disapparated, and Harry spat foul curses into the icy air. He pushed himself upright, eyes still red with anger, glaring at the place where she had been. With a strange, inhuman sound, like a raven's caw, he fumbled through the empty air, fingers curling like claws where she had vanished, but there was nothing.

Glancing behind him, Ron's face was white, eyes wide. 'What the hell were you doing!' he asked, sounding shocked. 'You used the…' He fell off, speechless, staring at Harry as though he'd never seen him before, taking a step backwards and raising his hands as though afraid.

'She killed Sirius,' Harry spat, his voice rasping as he spoke. 'She killed him. She has to suffer, has to suffer, has to suffer…'

Ron shook his head, face turning from shock to fear. 'Harry, please, snap out of it. What's gotten into you? Look, that was an Unforgivable, you could be sent to Azkaban for that…'

'I don't care!' Harry snarled, and sprang straight for Ron, knocking him to the ground. Ron yelled, trying to cover his face. Harry's fists rained down wildly – Ron's wand went flying – because Harry was past the point of sanity now, driven there by pain and anger and grief, and all he had room for in his mind was to know that Bellatrix had killed Sirius, and Ron had stopped him from making her suffer, so Ron had to be hurt too…

Ron wasn't fighting back. 'Harry!' he shouted, trying to fend off Harry's flailing fists, angry punches, powered by blind rage and nothing else. Ron swore vehemently under his breath, before adding, 'Harry, bloody well _calm down_!'

Harry screamed at him, a red-faced, animalistic scream with meaning but no words, pure anger made sound, and carried on in his maddened, angry, insane attack. Ron swore again, the foulest words he knew, and drew back his fist to punch Harry hard in the face.

Ron misjudged his own strength. Rather than knocking some sanity into Harry, as he'd intended, the punch threw Harry backwards away from him. He slipped or skidded away, ending up on the ground an inch or two away from Ron, his face ice-white and one hand clasped to his nose, his eyes staring blankly.

'Damn,' Ron cursed, pushing himself gingerly to his feet. He could feel the bruises aching on his arms already. 'You alright?' he asked Harry. He would have apologised for hitting him so hard, but felt in the circumstances he was rather justified.

Harry's eyes narrowed suddenly, the madness back, dancing like demons in the dark green of his eyes. The sudden shock of it, the pain, only added to the depths of his insanity. He had to cause pain, had to make someone suffer, suffer like he had suffered… And Ron, Ron had hit him, Ron had stopped him torturing Sirius' murderer, had said such hateful, hurtful things over Sirius's death…

Wand. A sudden glance behind him revealed it, lying on the ground a few feet away; he scrambled over and grabbed it up, clambering to his feet and pointing it at Ron, who backed away in fear. The wand, the pain, the torture… he had no sense of what he was doing, no rational thought; only the pain and the anger which screamed and seared through every part of him, blinding him, deafening him.

Pain, he had to make Ron suffer, he had to cause pain, pain… A spell, something Dark, something horrible. His mind flicked back through the books he'd read, researching for the DA, books of curses he'd only thought to defend himself against, never use. Spells to cause pain, spells to terrify, spells to send someone mad. Spells to make someone see their own worst fears – yes, yes, that was it.

A grin split his face, sharp as a knife, and his eyes glittered with malice. Ron, evidently terrified, backed away, hands raised as if to stop him. 'Harry, Harry, stop it. Please. You don't want to do this…'

'_Yes I do_!' Harry hissed, making Ron wince. Brandishing his wand, he approached the defenceless Ron, the sweet, sweet spell that would bring such pain and suffering ringing in his ears, whispering through his mind, dancing tantalisingly close to the tip of his tongue. His own worst fears. How simple, how perfect…

He levelled the wand, pointing straight at Ron. Glancing aside, Ron's eyes fell on his own wand, knocked away when Harry first attacked him. Throwing himself into a dive, Ron grabbed for his wand, but it was too late; Harry's lips had parted into a demonic grin, his voice hissing the spell…

'_Metue!_'

A red-tinted mist poured out of the end of Harry's wand. It pulsated and crawled through the air like blood, heading for Ron with sickening slowness. Ron tried a shield spell but it failed, tried to dodge but the spell followed him. He yelled, attempting to push the mist away as it settled chillingly around him, the swirls in the mist sometimes obscuring his horrified face, sometimes revealing it.

Harry watched, a sadistic light dancing in his eyes.

The swirls began to change colour as the spell took effect. Now instead of the blood-red staining, the mist turned first white, then multi-coloured as images began to form…

Long-legged spiders crawled darkly through the mist, every hideous feature magnified and transformed from fear-inspiring to mind-numbingly horrific; the huge hairy legs, the cluster of glistening eyes, the mandibles dripping venom. Ron screamed, staggering backwards and falling hard to the ground. Harry's dark grin widened in grim satisfaction.

More things followed, flickering across the whiteness. Hoards of Death Eaters, battles, Hogwarts burning to the ground, the pupils taken prisoner or killed, a Dark Mark hovering over the Burrow, Ginny dead, Ron's brothers dead, parents dead, so many people being tortured and dying…

It was perfect, thought Harry. The rage and anger was satiating itself on Ron's terrified moans and screams, leaving a purer form behind, something dark and evil that curled sinister tendrils through Harry's mind and sat whispering black thoughts inside his skull.

Harry watched, a cruel smile curving his lips, as each new image appeared. They kept getting worse, and Ron's cries grew louder and all the more satisfying. Paraded on a new swirl of mist, he saw Hermione captured by Death Eaters, chained and imprisoned and beaten and tortured and killed. The suffering of a friend, what exquisite torture…

And then something Harry hadn't expected, something that jolted him even in his insane state. His own face appeared on the next swirl, looking brave and resolute; Harry frowned. There were images of battles, of Death Eater attacks, spells flying through the air. And then another face, one with red slits for eyes and a snakelike apperance. Voldemort.

Ron moaned – he could guess what was coming, though Harry could only watch, the insanity half-ebbing away. Back to the battle scene, but now there was a new focus; the Harry in the vision was battling Voldemort, throwing curses and dodging away narrowly. He was hit by the Cruciatius; Harry watched his own face screw up in pain. The visions were soundless, but Ron screamed.

Harry frowned. What was happening, why was he doing this to Ron, why hadn't he stopped it…?

And the vision continued. Voldemort laughed at Harry, curled in pain on the floor, and raised his wand for the final spell, the flash of green light, the end… The mist swirled, showing Harry's dead features, eyes glazed; Hermione and Ron finding the body, crying; Voldemort rising again, a new wave of terror sweeping over the country…

Harry gasped in horror as the last of the insanity left him, drained away to leave a friend screaming and tormented by his own hand. No, no, he couldn't have done it; only a Dark wizard would do it, someone evil, not him, no…

White faced and shaking, Harry pointed his wand straight at the mist. 'Finite Incantatem!'

The mist vanished instantly, leaving Ron to slump forwards onto the ground, breathing heavily and shaking. Instinct told Harry to run to Ron's side, to make sure he was all right, to tell him it was over now, to beg forgiveness… But he didn't. Couldn't, not when he'd been the cause of Ron's suffering, not when he was to blame. Instead, he dropped his wand to the floor, staring unbelievingly at his hands. Dark curses… torture… he'd used an Unforgivable on Bellatrix! No, he couldn't have, wouldn't have…

_But he had_.

Minutes passed, while Ron calmed down and Harry tried, impossibly, to grasp the full extent of what the anger and grief had driven him to. After an eternity, Ron pushed himself to a sitting position, then stood shakily. Not looking at Harry, he muttered numbly, 'We need to go on.'

Harry stared at the back of Ron's head, eyes still wide with horror. A thousand words swarmed his throat – I'm sorry, I didn't mean to, I was stupid, I was worse than stupid, I was insane, Please forgive me… - but none of them would come out. He could only stare, blankly and helplessly, understanding both nothing and far, far too much.

Ron turned, still not looking at Harry, and walked onwards towards the tower. Harry picked up his wand and followed silently behind.

~*~

**Latin:**

'Glaciemanus!' - 'glacius' = ice, 'manus' = hand. 

'Calidus!' = warmth. 

'Runa!' = dart. 

'Enervatus!' = a limp.

'Glubecutis!' - 'glubere' = peel, 'cutis' = skin. 

'Seca!' = cut (imperative) (and cookies to anyone who spots where this was used before in this fic…)

'Metue!' = fear (imperative)

**A/N:** The word you're looking for to describe Harry in that chapter is, 'psychotic.' I've been annoying all my friends lately by chattering on about the 'deep, philosophical meaning' of the fic, and you lot are no exception. 

It's turning out differently to how I expected, and seems almost ironic to me. 'Magnanimous' means 'great of heart', which is what we'd expect Harry and Ron to be, as they're putting themselves in danger to save a great many people. But they aren't truly magnanimous; Ron was cruel to Harry over Sirius, and Harry was, well, utterly psychotic. 

Draco, on the other hand, is the Death Eater's son who we all know has been evil in the past. And even though he's locked up in a cell and most probably not going to be the one to save Hogwarts, has he acted more 'great of heart' than Ron and Harry? He sacrificed a lot and put himself in great danger from his father to do the right thing – yet we all know what he's acted like in the past.

Basically, no one is perfect, not even the heroes.

I realise I've bored you half to death with that, but I shall end as usual with the review-begging:

_There once was a girl called cyropi,_

_Who was feeling most dreadfully mopey,_

_She got lots of reviews,_

_Which quite busted those blues,_

_So give more to that girl called cyropi._

Please?


	11. Burning

_Magnanimous Chapter 11 – Burning_

**Disclaimer:** I don't own them, JKR does.

**Thanks for 220 reviews goes to:** willowfairy, Lyra Silvertongue2, aliveforever83, Forever Blessed, mutsumi, jules37, Vfoxy713, Cuppy, Paganicewand, foxglove, Tired!Georgina, Hermione182 (x2), willowwiccantara, Jade-Jaganashi, Kersten Chayne, Saotoshi, Gothic Spyder, Oz1, Wormmon ABC, Hp1fan, Rebecca 15, Chiiyonami-Chan, Sam8 (x2)

**A/N:** I found this chapter very difficult; not sure why, as the work I did on a very long one-shot straight afterwards which I simply couldn't stop myself on (for a challenge, and yes it is D/Hr, and it'll be up before the 24th, because that's the deadline.) But hey; its probably the muses being cranky. 

One of the things I like about this chapter is the contrasts within it. Some were intentional, but I keep spotting new ones that were either so obvious I overlooked them or very subtle…

Cookies for spotting that 'Seca!' was used before in Chapter 8 go to: alive forever83, Vfoxy713, Flexi Lexi. Hp1fan also gets a cookie for spotting that it was used in one of my one-shots, Cadens, and Kersten Cheyne gets extra big cookies for spotting both.

With huggles to my betas Sophie and Orchid, and Simrun who isn't really supposed to be a beta but enjoys stealing the chapter and scribbling notes all over it.

~*~

He'd slept for an hour, maybe more, maybe less, before awakening to find much the same situation as he'd been in earlier. Lying on the floor with Hermione in his arms, watching her sleeping form with too many questions whirling through his mind…

Although the questions didn't seem to be plaguing him so much now. He was aware of how many there were, of what a tangled mess of answers they would provide, but somehow they didn't matter any more. Instead of the clamouring need for answers, they had dulled to an indistinct hum where all the questions merged into an insignificant mess. 

All that mattered, for now at least, was… this. Just this endless, infinite moment as she slumbered peacefully, her head resting on his shoulder, one arm curled closely across his chest, her fingers snagging on the top of his robes. Even the room had a different look to it, Draco mused, a wry smile curving his lips with the corniness of it.  But he couldn't deny, the harsh white had changed to a softly glowing pearl as the sunlight spilled gold across the floor…  Voldemort and his plans seemed so far away, meaningless as a dream and real as a fairytale.

It felt as though those kisses had split the world into two parts. The real world, and then this part, where all that existed was himself and herself, Draco and Hermione. The real world was so much more complicated, so much more difficult. She was a Mudblood, he reminded himself with a peculiar frown. No, a Muggle-born, Draco corrected himself. Hermione hated being called a Mudblood. But she was one, no matter what term he used. Her parents were Muggles. Low, filthy, inferior beings…

Except that in this world, this shard of strange and twisted reality, that didn't matter. She was just Hermione, herself and nothing else. He tried to snap himself back to reality: he was a Malfoy, a pureblood; she was just some bushy-haired Mudblood, Potter's friend, a bookish brat, an annoyance and a pest…

But all that was as real as a dream and didn't matter.

What mattered was Hermione, and that was all.

It was a strange concept to Draco, who after all was both a Slytherin and a Malfoy, brought up to know all the answers, to hate all the Muggle-borns, to whom the only things that were supposed to matter were power and blood and money. What did Hermione have of those three? She was intelligent, and a powerful witch, but what of connections and social circles and knowing the right people? He had no idea about money – presumably she was neither poverty-stricken nor rich. And as for blood…

But still, it was true. Here, in this world, in this moment, she was all that mattered.

Draco stopped fighting against that simple fact, stopped questioning, and simply let himself sink into it. So wrong, against everything he'd ever thought, but so right. The warmth of her body, the gentle rhythm of her breathing, and if he listened very closely, the sound of her heart beating. An endless moment; infinite, eternal.

A heartbeat or an hour later – he didn't know and honestly didn't care – Hermione began to stir. Draco watched as she shifted her head, half consciously, to a more comfortable position on his shoulder, and tucked her arm closer across his side. Wondering if she was awake or asleep, he softly spoke her name.

'Hermione?'

She gave a little muffled grunt, turning her head against his shoulder and utterly refusing to wake up. Draco couldn't help but laugh a little; she reminded him so much of a little child who didn't want to get out of bed and go to school. Although he suspected Hermione had never in her life held such a sentiment.

With a slightly evil look dancing in his eyes – he was, after all, a Slytherin, he reached out one elegant finger, trailed it lightly and slowly around the outside of her ear, down onto her jaw line. She shivered, and opened her eyes rather crossly.

'You did that on purpose. I was _trying_ to sleep.' She rebuked him, frowning. Draco gave her no reply but a wicked grin, and she rolled her eyes.

There was a moment's pause, in which he saw Hermione's face cloud over again, and her forehead creased. 'Draco,' she asked at length, 'what exactly happened…'

'This morning?' She nodded her agreement, and Draco paused for thought. He himself wasn't sure, which annoyed him slightly; he was used to knowing precisely what he had done and why he had done it, plus all the pros and cons that had led him to do whatever it was he did. In the normal world, at least. In this world things didn't happen logically, they happened because… Because they did.

'We kissed.' He said at last. It wasn't an answer but an evasion, avoiding her question.

'I'd realised that…' she said, her cheeks tingeing slightly red, which caused Draco to smile. 'I meant… well, I guess I meant… why?'

'I don't know why.' He replied simply with a tiny rise of his shoulders. 'I don't think there was a reason.'

'But everything has a reason.' She protested. 'There has to be one, there has to be something…'

'Probably. But I don't know it.' Draco found, to his surprise, that he didn't really care why. Idly, he began to play with a lock of Hermione's hair, twisting it between his fingers.

'Don't do that, it distracts my concentration.' She told him irritably, swatting at his hand.

'Then don't concentrate.'

She gave him a rather confused look, then decided to let it pass. 'I still don't understand. What happened, why did it happen, what do I…' She broke off, still frowning.

'I've been thinking about much the same things all morning.' He told her. 'It doesn't make sense; it's pointless thinking about it. That's the only thing I've figured out.'

She sighed. 'I know, but…' She bit her lip as she tried to think of what to say. 'Draco, you have to have a reason_. I_ have to have a reason. But I just can't… I mean, it doesn't make sense! Things like… like _this_ don't happen in real life, not in this short a time, it just doesn't happen!'

Draco found that Hermione was suddenly looking straight into his eyes. He didn't know what she could see in them, but in her eyes he saw a kind of fear, a fear that this might not be real, a fear that this wasn't what she thought it was. And alongside the fear, hope. Hope that he'd tell her it wasn't just a dream or a delusion.

'Of course things like that happen.' He pointed out. 'It just happened to us, didn't it?'

For a moment, a fraction of a heartbeat, she was silent. Then, 'Yes…' she replied softly.  'Yes. It did. It did happen.'

She relaxed now, resting her head back on his shoulder, and Draco could tell that she, too, had given up questioning that which couldn't be understood. He gave her a few minutes of lying peacefully in his arms, then did what he'd wanted to do ever since he'd woken up and bent down to Hermione's lips for a long, passionate kiss.

She seemed quite pleased to kiss him back.

~*~

They were within sight of the tower.

A tall and impressive structure, it was pure white, and rose straight upwards into the air with no ornamentation whatsoever. Far above the ground, the top tapered to a narrow point, and from this came the thin beam of light that Harry and Ron had been following. Thin dark slits were visible – presumably windows – but no door.

It was the sight Harry had been hoping to see since they set out; the end of their journey, the completion of their task, the rescue of the school. But he could not care anymore; couldn't feel anything but a vague sense of dread about what might happen inside. There might be more Death Eaters, he might have to fight, and he might get angry…

No, he pleaded with himself, no. He didn't want anything like that to happen again, ever again; he could barely even believe that it had happened anyway. It all felt so wrong, so distant, like a dream. Like it wasn't really him that had done it, except that it _had_ been.

He felt somehow dirty, unclean, as though the evilness of those spells had clung to his hands, to his skin. As though his very self was blackened and marred by what he'd done. And how could it fail to be? The Cruciatius, and tormenting his own friend, forcing him to see his own worst fears… How could he not be changed by that?

Harry shuddered, grateful for the numb shock that was still hanging over him. He didn't want to think about that, not in detail, not now. Later he'd have to face it and try not to hate himself for it, but now… Now the tower was ahead and the Aculux curse must be disabled.

There were a few Death Eaters around the base of the tower, but they were inattentive – it was almost the end of the allotted time frame, Harry realised, after which the curse would be permanent. They weren't expecting anything so late on. Without looking at each other, he and Ron took out their wands – Harry's hand shook when he held it, as if remembering what it had done the last time – and Stunned the Death Eaters quickly and without any fuss. 

Walking past the fallen bodies – too much like corpses for Harry's liking – they reached the base of the tower. It was made of what appeared to be stone, but pure white and icy to the touch.

'There's no door.' Ron mumbled after a few seconds, and Harry cringed. Ron was looking away, speaking quietly and plainly as possible, from fear or hate Harry couldn't tell. He wanted, more than ever, for Ron to be his friend again, but he couldn't, because there was nothing he could say that would be anywhere near an adequate apology.

Instead, Harry's gaze fell upon the wall, and he saw a small and simple carving in the stone of the tower. He ran his fingertips across the harsh, regular shapes. Words.

'Here.' He managed to say, his voice whisper-soft. Ron turned – Harry felt the flicker of his gaze across the back of his neck – and read the words.

_The Enemy of Reason and the King of every Fool,_

_It lays no laws, no orders; full of Anarchy its rule._

_It clouds the Mind and blinds Man to every common sense he's known,_

_Yet every fool will tell you 'tis the dearest thing they own._

A riddle, then. Harry read through it once or twice, trying to ignore the horrible void feeling that was spreading like ice through his veins, and tried to think of an answer. It would have been set by Voldemort, or some Dark wizard; what would they hold in as much disregard as the answer to this riddle?

'I dunno.' Ron's voice split the silence, making Harry start as though he'd been stabbed. And in a sudden, sickening rush of realisation, he realised the answer to the riddle.

'Love.' He said softly, and sure enough, the section of wall with the riddle inscribed split in two, curved away, leaving an archway for them to pass through. On the other side, a plain white stairway led downwards.

They stood in silence for a moment. How bitterly ironic, Harry thought. Love, caring for other people, friendships… the very things he'd betrayed when he cast those spells.

'Sounded more like hate to me.' Ron said impassively, stepping down onto the first step. His comment was like a slap in the face to Harry, Ron reminding him – on purpose, and they both knew it – of what he'd done, first to Sirius' murderer, then to his own best friend. 

Harry, the Boy Who Lived, always the hero, the defeater of Voldemort, the Golden Boy. He was meant to be perfect, to care for people, to be, in short a Good Person. But Good People didn't torture anyone, didn't cast dark spells. This was the part the history books would gloss over, when they recounted the life and deeds of Harry Potter – they'd talk about his fights with Voldemort, the Chamber of Secrets, the Triwizard Tournament. But they wouldn't talk about this, the time when the great hero grinned evilly as he tortured first a Death Eater and then his friend. 

He followed Ron down the staircase. There was no lighting anywhere, at least no visible lighting, and when Harry glanced backwards he saw that the door they had entered through had closed itself. Even without any light source, the staircase was perfectly lit. It was entirely white, and the lack of any shadows produced a disorientating effect – near impossible to see the individual steps, or to tell how far there was to go. It felt surreal, like a dream. Or a nightmare.

Eventually, Harry realised that they were nearing the bottom of the stairs. Anxiously, his hand strayed once more to his wand – he didn't want to use it again, for fear that he might do something else he'd regret, but if there were Death Eaters here…

There weren't, thankfully. The staircase ended in an oval-shaped room, still perfectly blank and white and empty, with six completely identical doors ranged around the edge. Glancing upwards, they could see that the ceiling arching high above them. At the very top thin slits in the walls let sunlight spill in. They were unnecessary, for the tower was filled with the same omnipresent light as before.

But it was the scene directly in front of them that caused them both to stare in amazement. A huge archway dominated the room, and beyond it another room was plainly visible. A wide, impressive dais dominated the space, standing about six feet off the floor level, and in the middle of this dais rested one thing. 

Floating in mid air was the orb, the orb Malfoy had spoken of, the one that was the power source of the Aculux curse. The small round globe was filled with dancing golden sparks, and streaming towards the ceiling was a double helix of golden light that filled the air with crackling electricity.

Harry and Ron approached it in silence, crossing the cold room with no more noise than the sound of their footsteps thumping on the floor. Harry's heart had begun to thud painfully in his chest as he remembered fully the danger they were both in. Trying to turn this spell off had killed people in the past. Could kill them now. They didn't know anything about it…. It was madness, insanity, but if they didn't do this then most people in the school would die. How could they do anything else but attempt it?

They had reached the bottom of the dais, and paused for a moment, craning to look up at the orb above them. After a moment, Ron pulled a piece of parchment from his pocket – the instructions Malfoy had given them – and began walking up the steps to the dais.

'Stop.'

Harry's voice was clear and commanding; Ron stopped on the second step, and turned his head. Neither boy dared look at the other.

'We have to do this, Harry.' Ron said, his voice low and shaking slightly. Harry winced, taking it as a sign that Ron was afraid of him. 'I know you didn't want to come, but if we do nothing the entire school will die, we have to at least try…'

Harry cut him off mid ramble. 'I know all that. But you're not going to be the one to try it. I am.'

Ron was silent for a moment. 'But, Harry, you could get killed….'

'I know.' He said with amazing calmness, feeling suddenly resolute. He pulled the piece of parchment from his pocket, unfolding it carefully. 'Whichever one of us tries this is likely to die, and I'm the one who deserves to die more.'

He didn't even blink as he said this, but Ron gaped in amazement at him, tried to splutter something. Harry paid no heed. Instead, he pocketed his wand and stepped carefully up the stairs onto the dais.

Closer to the orb now, the air was full of static. He could feel the roots of his hair lifting, standing on end, electrified. Below him, Ron stepped back, stepped away, to watch fearfully what was about to unfold.

Carefully, Harry stepped up to the orb, the sparks inside it trembling at his presence. There were two faint handprints on the surface of the glass, handprints made by hands larger than Harry's with long, thin fingers. He moved round so that he could place his hands in the prints; now he was facing Ron, a pale, white and frightened face below. In contrast, Harry felt calm, composed. He didn't feel afraid that this could bring his death. He'd meant what he'd said to Ron; if he did die, it was nothing he hadn't deserved.

Harry looked upwards, and the sight amazed him; the golden spiral went on and on, higher and higher, all the way to the top of the tower, where it vanished into the sky. Looking up so high dizzied him, and he returned his gaze to the orb in front of him. Curious, he reached out one hand to touch the light, and instantly jerked it away. Looking at his finger, a nasty, deep gash had slashed through his flesh, and blood was oozing from the wound.

Wincing, Harry wiped the blood onto his robes, rested the piece of parchment on top of the orb and placed his hands inside the handprints. The glass was oddly warm to the touch, and the golden sparks began to dance even more frantically. Looking towards the parchment, he began to read the Latin script.

'_Dico, et scelerati imperia huius orbis audire me imperio_.' His heart began to race as the golden sparks inside the orb doubled in number, danced harder and faster, making the glass grow warmer and warmer. It stung slightly, but he kept going. Next line.

'_Vos qui magicum ex animis magorum subduces, opus vester desinete_ -' Harry broke off with a gasp; the glass was growing hotter with every work he said, so hot he was sure it was burning his hands, burning the skin away. The sparks grew brighter, almost blindingly so, but he could still make out Ron's worried face, drawing back unbidden the memories of a swirling mist, Ron screaming, the nightmarish vision of Harry's own death…

No, no, concentrate! He forced the rest of the sentence from his mouth, _'-ad tenebras regredimini et qui subduicsis reddite_.' Now he couldn't help but let out a small soft gasp of pain, the orb really was burning now, and burning badly. The smell of smouldering flesh filled the air, and he heard Ron give a shout of horror. Every instinct in his body was screaming at him to rip his hands from the glass, but he couldn't, he had to do this.

It would kill him.

 '_Nolite vester lucis acutae elucere numquam postes sinete -_' he gasped in one breath, the pain blinding now; he felt himself stagger but remained clinging onto the orb. He couldn't see the parchment now, knew it had probably burnt to ashes, but the last three words were on the tip of his tongue. From somewhere far away, he heard Ron scream. The light was so bright he could see nothing but gold, the pain in his hands so excruciating he could think of nothing else but the end of the sentence, he final three words.  

'_-vos requiescere imperio!_'

All the light that had been spilling from the orb collapsed, the curse shut off, but all the Darkness and power had to ground itself somehow, and it struck straight at Harry in one deadly instant. The pain seared through his skin; he screamed as the orb exploded into a million pieces, blowing him backwards to thud hard on the floor, unable to see anything, unable to think anything but _this is it, this is the end…_

The last thing he was aware of was Ron shouting, running towards him. And then everything, even the pain, faded away, replaced by an infinity of nothing…

~*~

**A/N:** I'll say nothing but: **review.**


	12. Returning

_Magnanimous Chapter 12 – Returning_

**Disclaimer:** Do I look like J.K.Rowling? No. Don't own HP. She does.

**Thanks for 240 reviews goes to:** Vfoxy713, willowfairy, foxxglove, Lyra Silvertongue2, Kou Shun'u, Flexi Lexi, Forever Blessed, La Lucida Luna, Paganicewand, Saotoshi, willowwiccantara, KrystyWroth, Rebecca15, Chiinoyami-chan (my dictionary doesn't list 'forever', would Aeternus (eternal) do?), Cuppy, mutsumi, jules37, Sparkle-eyed Dreamer, Jade-Jaganashi, Oz1.

**A/N:** Apologies for the evil ending! I don't have very much to say, except that the muses were evil to me. They completely neglected me on this chapter – major block – and instead they've had me in such a frenzy about my other piece of work (supposedly a 'one shot' already 20 pages and counting rapidly) that my hands are aching from typing too much.

Thanks due, as always, to my betas Orchid and Sophie – and Simrun, who isn't really an official beta, but likes stealing the drafts and scribbling all over them. You guys were wonderful for putting up with my lateness and block. And thanks to my Weasley Twin, Georgina, for giving my muses a kickstart.

And as for the general public: enjoy.

_~*~_

Ron fell to his knees by Harry's side, his eyes wide, staring in disbelief, in blank horror. The very last of the crackling light faded into non-existence. He was dimly aware of the ringing silence left after the explosion, after Harry's horrible, horrible scream, after the final fall, with a noise like rain, of the delicate glass shards of the orb that now littered the floor, winking tiny flashes of bright light up at him like fallen stars. But all of his mind was taken up with the hideous, impossible sight in front of him: Harry, lying dead on the ground, his eyes shut and face slack, empty of emotion, devoid of personality, because there was no personality there anymore…

It was impossible, unthinkable; this couldn't happen. Harry couldn't die, not now, not like this. Not when they'd spent these past few days fighting, not when Harry still hated himself for going half insane… Ron knew he hadn't meant it – after all, how could Ron even begin to imagine what Harry had endured every single day?  The burdens of memory that had rested on him - his parents' death, his numerous terrifying encounters with the Dark Lord, his unfortunate involvement in every foul thing that seemed to go on, Cedric's death, Sirius... Ron knew all this, and knew he couldn't begin to empathize with Harry, no one could. And even though he couldn't keep the bitterness and anger out of his mind after Harry had performed the curse, he knew, he completely knew that Harry hadn't deserved to die.

_I'm the one who deserves to die more._ That has been the last thing Harry had said to Ron, and it had been a lie; neither of them deserved to die any more than the other.

'_Harry…_' Ron whispered, barely even realising that he had said it, and then his vision blurred with tears, obscuring every detail of his friend's dead body; turning his empty, lifeless face into a swimming mess of sickeningly white skin, turning the savage cuts from the broken orb into shaky red lines, turning the mangled mess of his burnt hands into a nauseating crimson smear.

His hand shaking, Ron reached out to one limp wrist, feeling for a pulse, a flicker of life, clinging onto a shred of hope that Harry might still be alive. He flinched as he touched the seared flesh, then his fingers moved down onto the undamaged area, found the pulse point, pressed desperately into the cold skin…

Was that a pulse? No, no, it couldn't be, it was his imagination, wishful thinking… But then again he felt it, weak and tired but there, a pulse, a heartbeat, a sign of life, and with a rush of relief so sharp it was nearly painful he realised: _Harry was still alive._

His relief was rudely broken into by a loud bang from the adjoining room. Ron swivelled, drawing his wand and pointing it towards the steps at the bottom of the dais, expecting a Death Eater – or, with a flicker of horror, Voldemort himself, come to finish Harry off – but the familiar figure he saw, an expression of grim worry etched into his face, made Ron gape in amazement and relief.

'Professor Dumbledore?' he asked incredulously.

Dumbledore climbed the stairs to the top of the dais, and Ron recognised Fawkes sitting sedately on his shoulder. Dumbledore's old eyes were clouded as they took in the scene; Harry lying as if dead on the floor, Ron crouched by his side, suddenly very aware of how filthy they both were; covered in sand and blood and dirt, clothes torn, both exhausted and unkempt from days with too little sleep…

Dumbledore seemed to sag a little; he bowed his head, closing his eyes, and even Fawkes seemed morose. Ron was struck by the sadness in his face; it was the expression of someone who has failed. 'I am sorry.' Dumbledore said, his voice suddenly ancient, unbearably soft after the explosion and the screams.

Ron found his tongue. 'Harry, he's… he's not dead, sir. He's alive, he's still got a pulse…'

Dumbledore's head snapped up sharply, and Fawkes cocked his head on one side, eyes fixed on Harry's body, considering. 'Are you certain?'

Ron nodded, and at that moment Fawkes seemed to come to a conclusion; he swooped from Dumbledore's shoulder with a melodic burst of phoenix song – Ron was amazed at the sound, feeling it fill his heart with strength; the colour returning to his pale face. Fawkes landed by Harry's side, rested his head in his tortured palm, and cried silvery tears until the flesh was healed.

Still without saying anything, Dumbledore crossed to Harry's side as Fawkes changed palms. Dumbledore crouched down and pointed his wand directly at Harry's heart. '_Vivasne._'

The tip of his wand glowed faintly. Ron saw the headmaster's face relax; and an expression of great relief spread across his features.

'He's quite badly hurt, but he should be alright.' Dumbledore informed Ron, who nodded dumbly. 'We need to get him back to Hogwarts, although I…'

He never got to finish his sentence. In the distance, a door slammed loudly, angry shouts and the slap of running feet floated up to them. Apprehension bubbled inside Ron, but Dumbledore seemed calm.

'I don't think there are many of them.' He said quietly, looking straight at Ron. 'You stay with Harry, don't fight unless you have to…'

'But you can't fight them alone!' Ron blurted out. Dumbledore merely smiled, an amused smile, and Ron realised that in all probability, Dumbledore could take on a handful of Death Eaters easily. He felt slightly abashed, but before there was time to say anything Dumbledore had risen and stepped off the dais, Fawkes following, and the sounds of voices were closer now, he could hear them racing up the stairs to the main room…

There was a loud shout, then a scream - neither in Dumbledore's voice. White light began to flare from below – he thought he heard, for a brief instant, phoenix song – and he heard angry shouts from the Death Eaters as the light flared up, identical in colour to the walls around him, so that it would have seemed to be just another surface but for the constant flaring and flickering.

Then came what would he could only have described as a negative explosion. There was no loud blast of noise, instead a wave of soundlessness engulfed the room, so complete that Ron couldn't even hear the sound of his own breathing. The light filled the entire room, blindingly – for a moment, he wondered whether he was dead – then faded away. Over the edge of the dais, Ron could just see the dazed Death Eaters lying messily on the floor, robes tangled, limps splayed awkwardly. Dumbledore was conjuring ropes to tie them up, taking their wands out of their unresisting hands.

As quickly as possible, Dumbledore finished what he was doing and climbed up the stairs, back to Ron and Harry, Fawkes soaring silently alongside him. 

'There were only five.' Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling at Ron's expression. 'And I'm perfectly alright, I assure you.'

'Sir,' Ron began, still feeling worried, 'what if there are more, I mean, wouldn't they all be guarding the Orb…?'

'The majority of Voldemort's Death Eaters massed at the edges of the field at least a day ago.' Dumbledore informed him. 'Intending, of course, to attack the school as soon as the curse made our loss of magic permanent. I believe, when they discovered that the Aculux curse had ended, they attacked anyway. Don't look so alarmed,' he added, seeing Ron's look of horror, 'I assure you the school has its own ways of defending itself, now that the curse has ended.'

Ron nodded, still concerned but trusting the Headmaster, and was about to query how Dumbledore had got there so quickly when the Headmaster spoke again. 'I'm sure you have many questions for me – as I do for you – but we must get Harry to the Hospital Wing quickly.' Ron nodded. 'And where is Miss Granger? I was under the impression she had accompanied you…?'

Ron nodded, feeling a constriction in his throat; he hadn't even been considering his other best friend's plight in the chaos recent events. 'She did, but then we ran into a sandstorm, just outside the field of the spell, and she and Malfoy got split up from us, I don't know where they ended up…'

'Malfoy?' Dumbledore asked, looking mildly confused. 'Do you mean Draco Malfoy? How does he come into this?'

'He'd stolen Harry's Invisibility Cloak.' Ron said, glancing down at Harry as he spoke his name. 'And… I don't know. We were arguing about whether or not to go,' a twist of guilt in his stomach, 'and he just… He was spying on us, or something. Took off the Cloak, and he had these notes he'd taken from his father's things, with the instructions for turning the spell off and stuff.'

Dumbledore nodded, frowning. 'An explanation that creates more questions than it answers.' He remarked. 'Questions which I shall leave until later. And you have no idea of where they could be?'

Ron didn't answer, but a voice called from over the edge of the dais. 'If you're talking about that Malfoy brat and the Mudblood scum, _I_ _might_ be persuaded to remember…' The voice was horrible; old and raspy, clogged with malice. Dumbledore stood and walked to the edge of the dais, looking down.

'What kind of persuasion?' he enquired, voice carefully level and diplomatic. A sinister chuckle came from down below.

'Thought you'd be able to guess, genius that you are.' It said mockingly. 'Freedom, of course. I don't want a place in Azkaban any more than the next man.'

'I would be certain to mention it at your Ministry trial.' Dumbledore said amiably. 'I believe there's a Ministry ruling that convicts who show a willingness to provide vital information are rewarded with more lenient sentences...'

'Bah.' The man spat, and then there was a long pause. 'Fine.' Came the voice at last. 'I should have known you'd be tight fisted. Still, a shorter sentence is a shorter sentence… They're locked in the cells. Second door on the right, straight down the stairs, first cell along. Spell to open the door is _concursus_. And I'd better not have more than a year's sentence…'

'I shall speak to the Ministry.' Dumbledore replied, before turning to Ron and adding quietly, 'I need to cast some spells up here – send these Death Eaters to the Ministry and make sure it's safe to transport Harry. Would you go and fetch them from the cells?'

Ron nodded, almost reluctantly, and stood up stiffly, leaving Harry behind. He knew that he should be relieved Hermione was okay, nervous about going down to the cells alone, worried over Harry, angry still over what Harry had done… But all he could feel was a heavy numbness. The past few days were taking their toll: he was too worn out emotionally to feel anything more than a vague sense of hope that this would be over soon. He had an intense desire for a long soak in a very hot bath, and a lot of sleep.

He walked down the dais stairs slowly, wove his way through the Death Eaters on the floor – the awake one, who'd given them the directions, gave him a foul and baleful glare – and crossed to the door. From behind him came the sound of Dumbledore muttering spells, a sound that was cut off abruptly as he closed the door behind him. Another set of perfectly white, perfectly empty stairs. Déjà vu seized him; he'd made this journey once before, but with Harry behind him. This time he was alone.

Sighing, he walked down the stairs. His wand was in his hand, ready, in case Dumbledore was wrong and not all of the Death Eaters had come up to the main hall to fight. But there was no sound, and he reached the bottom without incident.

First door along, and what was the password again? _Concursus_, that was it. As he put his wand tip to the door handle, Ron thought for a moment he could hear voices coming from inside; soft voices, not raised in anger but engaged in conversation. Only for a moment though; after all, the idea of Hermione and Malfoy having a civil conversation, actually getting on, was laughable, Ron reminded himself.

'_Concursus_' he whispered, and the door swung open.

'_What?!_'

The syllable left his lips before he'd even thought of it, so surprised was he by what he saw. Hermione and Malfoy, instead of arguing, fighting, killing each other or at the very least sitting in stony silence, were – impossible as it was – actually lounging together at one end of the room, her head resting on his shoulder and his hand, of all things, tangled in her hair! They appeared to have been chatting amicably, smiling together.

Hermione looked towards him and gasped; Malfoy, following her gaze, snorted with amusement. Hermione's smile changed from a simple one of happiness to a rather conflicted one; relief was there, but also worry and a strange kind of fear.

'Oh, _Ron_!' she said, and he thought she sounded strangely guilty. 'I… Are you okay? Where's Harry? He's not…' Her eyes grew wide with fear. If Ron had been paying attention, he would have noticed Malfoy look towards her with a flicker of concern on his face.

'Harry's alive,' Ron said impatiently, 'but what in Hell's name are you doing? If you've hurt her, Malfoy…' he ended threateningly.

'He hasn't.' Hermione cut in before Draco had opportunity to speak himself, 'but what's been happening, where is Harry, is he hurt, what about the spell, did you deactivate it?'

Draco raised an eyebrow. 'Honestly, Hermione' – his use of her first name set Ron's teeth on edge, and he glared at the blonde Slytherin viciously – 'don't ask them all at once. This isn't the Spanish Inquisition.'

Hermione glanced up at Draco. 'I know, I'm just worried…' She bit her lip. This time Ron did notice the way Malfoy's hand tightened on hers, and he glared.

'We did turn the spell off.' He said shortly, trying to gain back their attention. 'Harry's alive. Just. He got injured stopping the spell.'

Hermione blanched. 'Is he going to be alright…?'

'Dumbledore thinks so.'

'Dumbledore's here?' Hermione frowned. 'How?'

'Haven't a clue myself.' Ron replied. 'Of course, I seem to be utterly clueless about a lot of things around here…' he added, with a pointed glare at Malfoy.

Draco arched a silvery eyebrow. 'I thought the situation should be perfectly obvious.' He replied calmly

'If you think I'll believe that she's all cuddled up to you of her own free will…' Ron began threateningly.

'I am…' Hermione protested, but Draco cut in.

'We can argue the fine details of this later, Weasley…'

'Ron.' Hermione corrected softly. Irritably, Draco sighed. 

'_Ron_, then. I simply think that it's probably not the best idea in the world to sit around arguing when Potter…'

'_Harry!_' she insisted.

'When The Boy Who Lived to have a ridiculously messy hairstyle and go on disastrous dates with Cho Chang…'

'Draco!' she protested vigorously. Draco frowned and shook his head.

'No, not me, I've never been out with Cho Chang…'

Hermione elbowed him in the ribs, and he laughed. Ron realised that he'd never heard Malfoy laugh properly before: it was an odd experience. And the way that Hermione and Malfoy were acting… It was all wrong; they were acting like old friends.

'What I was trying to say,' Draco went on, 'is that we shouldn't be sitting around here bickering when whatever-you-want-to-call-him is half-dead upstairs.'

Hermione looked suddenly guilty. 'You're right.' She agreed. 'We'd better go…'

Ron glared again as he saw Draco get to his feet, and then bend to help Hermione up in a gentlemanly manner. His teeth on edge, he turned to lead them out of the room and back up the stairs. Glancing behind him, he saw that Hermione and Malfoy were, seemingly unconsciously, holding hands.

Another set of problems and thought and worries to add to his already full mind. Harry had tortured him with his worst fears and used the Cruciatius on Bellatrix, Voldemort had tried – and failed, he hoped – to attack the school, and Hermione and Malfoy, worst enemies, were holding hands. Ron tried very hard not to admit to himself what appeared to be the truth – that they were _in love_ – because it was impossible, it couldn't happen. It was wrong.

Ron didn't speak as they climbed the stairs; although he heard Hermione and Malfoy, walking behind him, share a hurried whisper. The only thing that stopped him hexing Malfoy soundly and demanding an explanation was that he was worried about Harry. The image of his friend – if they could be called friends any more – lying unconscious and half-dead on the floor filled his mind. They had to get him back to Hogwarts where he could be healed: then there would be time for answers.

He opened the door to find Dumbledore waiting for them, Fawkes on his shoulder and Harry levitating eerily to one side, directed by Dumbledore's wand. The Death Eaters were gone.

'Where…?' Ron began to ask, but Dumbledore cut him off.

'I've sent the Death Eaters to the Ministry.' He explained. Dumbledore's eyes flickered to Hermione and Draco, widened slightly in surprise, and he raised an eyebrow, but didn't remark on it.

'We should get back to Hogwarts. Ron, if you'd take hold of Harry… and grab one of Fawkes's tail feathers… carefully, he'd not be best pleased if you pulled them out…'

Ron reluctantly did as he was directed. He shivered when he grabbed Harry's clammy hand, and was quite glad of Fawkes' feather in the other. It felt strangely warm: but that was only to be expected, for a phoenix.

'Professor,' Hermione began to ask, 'how exactly are we going to get back to Hogwarts…?'

Dumbledore smiled, a twinkle in his eye. 'Phoenixes have a wide range of abilities, as I'm sure you will have read.'

Hermione paused for a moment. 'Oh! Don't they have their own kind of Apparition, a bit like the house elves do?'

Dumbledore nodded. 'Indeed they do. Harry may have mentioned it when I was forced to leave the school back in fifth year… Fawkes is highly talented at the art. And of course, the wards around the school only protect against human Apparition.' He smiled. 'So, if you would like to take hold of Fawkes… Directly to the Hospital Wing, Fawkes, if you would be so kind.'

There was a seconds pause, and then, with absolutely no ceremony whatsoever, they were standing in the Hospital Wing. Ron blinked and looked around him, as if to make sure of where he was. It was definitely the Hospital Wing, but most of the beds were filled with pupils – even, he realised, Professor McGonagall was lying, fast asleep, under the covers of a bed. A distant roar was audible, but only just.

'Professor Dumbledore!' cried Madam Pomfrey, turning from handing a light blue potion to a seventh-year whose skin appeared to have turned to a viscous liquid; it kept shifting and running as she moved. 'I'm so glad you're back! The Death Eaters retreated five minutes ago; the pupils are celebrating in their common rooms, and…. Oh….' Her eyes fell upon Harry with a look of horror.

'He's alive, Poppy.' Dumbledore assured her. 'Just unconscious. I don't think there's any major damage, although of course I'll need you to check on that for me…'

'Oh, of course, Headmaster! Just put him over there, there's a bed free, that one there with the hangings open, poor little lamb…' Draco snorted loudly at this description, but no one paid much attention.

Dumbledore gently levitated Harry into the bed, watched Madam Pomfrey fuss over him for a few moments in silence, and then spoke. 'I feel Mr. Weasley could also do with a rest in the Hospital Wing, and probably a good meal too' he added, and Ron felt suddenly self conscious of all the cuts, scrapes, bruises and other minor injuries he'd done himself. He also realised that he was starving: when was the last time he'd eaten?

'Of course, of course.' Madam Pomfrey said, glancing round. 'Poor little mite, (Draco snorted again), why don't you go get in bed? And ask one of the House Elves to get you something to eat, they're generally running around helping out, so wonderfully obliging…'

Hermione gave a disapproving sniff, which made Ron give a wistful kind of smile. At least some things never changed…

'And I think, if you're up to it,' he heard Dumbledore say to Hermione and Malfoy, as he made his way to the nearest bed and climbed in, 'that you should come to my office and tell me your story.'

'We don't really have a big part in it,' he heard Hermione explain, 'we were locked in the tower for most of it…'

'How large a part you had to play is immaterial.' He told her wisely. 'Now, if you would follow me…'

Ron lay back in bed and sighed. A house elf ran up to him and asked what he wanted to eat; after specifying a large quantity of various foods – mostly fried – he thanked the little elf, who ran off quickly. Sighing, Ron leaned back into his pillows. The world had been turned on its head: perhaps it would make more sense after a long sleep…

~*~

**Latin:** _Vivasne_ – Do you not live? _Concursus_ – conflict.

**A/N:** I do realise there are some unanswered questions… Which await the coming of Chapter 13, of course, but feel free to ask anyway. The house elves, bless their little ears, are going to give out a free meal with drink to every reviewer! And yes, you can have a meal of chocolate… So review! You know you want to…


	13. Conversing

_Magnanimous Chapter 13 – Conversing_

**Disclaimer:** They all belong to J.K.Rowling – not me!

**Thanks for 262 reviews goes to: **Chiinoyami-chan, Kersten Cheyne (x2), animegirl-mika, jules37, SalsaGirl, foxglove, renoldo9, taragoddess, Kiyoko, willowfairy, alenchic, Flexi Lexi, Sam8, Yami Yuugi Lover AKA Kiyo, lena-jade, Wormmon ABC, airotci, Mizu Ki, Immortal Chicken, Hermione182, oRanGeStA.

**A/N:** Firstly, apologies for the one-day lateness. I have a valid excuse; my internet died.

Onto other news: I have a new 'one-shot' up. I say one-shot; it's almost half the length of Magnanimous! It's called 'Journals', is D/Hr, and won first place in the contest on my friend's forum. Go read, because I absolutely adore it.

Thanks also go to my betas, who made this much less awful that it would have been otherwise. To Simrun of the alarm bells, Sophie of the tucking-hair-behind-ears, and Orchid of the worshipful improvement of pretty much everything, I offer huggles and much chocolate.

Oh, and someone asked how many more chapters there would be. The answer is, I'm not entirely sure, though not many. I'm aiming for fifteen.

That said; read and enjoy.

~*~

'And that's pretty much all that happened,' Hermione finished lamely.

She and Draco were in Dumbledore's office, sitting on two comfortable plush armchairs that Dumbledore had conjured for them. Hermione had done most of the talking, Draco only interrupting to add the occasional detail. 

Hermione had described why and how they'd decided to go, artfully glossing over the fact that they'd freed Professor Snape's Runespoor. She'd mentioned Harry and Ron's argument, but not gone into detail on it. Then she'd gone on to say how it had been Draco who gave them the instructions and directions – Draco had stayed determinedly silent at this point – and then she'd given a brief account of how they'd all been split up in the sandstorm. 

Now, the office fell into an uncomfortable silence, and Hermione squirmed uneasily on her chair. The portraits hung on the walls began to disconcert her; most of them were pretending to sleep, peering at them through slitted eyes, and it made her nervous.

Dumbledore spoke, breaking the silence in his usual serene manner, addressing Hermione. 'Thank you for your account,' he said thoughtfully. He paused, and then turned to Draco. 'Forgive me if I act for a moment like a nosy, prying old man,' he asked, folding his hands and looking seriously at Draco over the top of his glasses, 'but I must ask: what exactly was it that prompted you to take part in this expedition?'

Hermione took a sharp breath, slanting a nervous glance at Draco. She knew the answer, of course – Ceros - but Draco would never tell someone like Dumbledore… What would he do? What would he say?

Draco shrugged elegantly. 'Personal reasons,' he said indifferently, and to Hermione's relief Dumbledore did not press further.

'Very well.' Dumbledore replied, his eyes still fixed on Draco. 'Is there anything more you've not said, or anything you need to ask?'

Draco shook his head, but Hermione spoke up. 'I have a question…' she said slowly. 'It's to do with… Harry survived turning the Aculux curse off, didn't he? But one of the Death Eaters said that only the person who set the curse up could stop it without dying. So… how did Harry survive?'

'Are you sure he was telling the truth?' Dumbledore asked. 'It's documented that people do die from stopping the curse, but not why they die. He could have been lying.'

'It sounded like truth to me,' Draco threw into the conversation. 'And I can usually tell truth from lies, he added, smirking a little at his expertise.'

Dumbledore frowned at this, and appeared for a long moment to be thinking. At length he asked, 'It was Voldemort who set the curse up, was it not?'

'I'm fairly sure it was,' confirmed Hermione.

A further pause. 'Interesting. Very interesting,' Dumbledore said slowly, before brightening up. 'And now, I think you both should go and get some sleep in a proper bed. May I suggest you return to your respective dormitories?'

They nodded – Hermione felt quite happy at the prospect of a proper bed – and stood up to leave. As they turned to the door, Dumbledore spoke again. 'One more thing, if I may…'

He looked at them, his eyes still serious but now with a hint of glitter in them, and a slight smile on his face. 'Inter-house relationships are renowned for being unusually difficult,' he told them, 'so allow me to wish you both the best of luck. Now, goodnight to you both.'

They mumbled their goodnights – Hermione blushing bright red, Draco looking mildly amused – and left the Headmaster's office. They didn't speak, initially, as they descended the spiral staircase to the corridor, but when they reached the bottom of the stairs, Draco spoke.

'I was trying to think of something to compare the colour of your face to,' he said thoughtfully, 'but I can't think of anything red enough.'

Hermione gave him a look, walking onto the corridor. 'I'm not _that_ red.'

'Yes you are.'

'I'm not… Look, even if I am, I'm not getting into a childish argument about it, alright?' she snapped defensively, raising a hand to her cheek as if to shield it.

Draco paused for a moment, then laughed, a real, chuckling laugh. 'Fine, fine. But that doesn't change the fact that you've still gone completely crimson.' The gargoyle slid into place behind him, and he leant casually against it, raising an eyebrow. 

Hermione shrugged and didn't answer, crossing her arms and looking almost uncomfortable. She was standing in the middle of the corridor, looking somehow fragile and delicate, as though the next breath of wind would blow her away. Draco frowned, but had only taken one step towards her when she spoke.

'Draco… I mean, what Dumbledore said… about us. And… inter-house relationships. What I mean is… well, is it?'

Draco frowned. 'Hermione you aren't making any sense,' he pointed out gently. 'What is 'it', and what are you asking about it?'

'I mean… us. You and me. Is it…'

'An inter-house relationship, as Dumbledore put it?' 

Hermione nodded, her face still bright red, and Draco felt the corner of his mouth tug into a small smile. He crossed to her, then, and stood in front of her in the middle of the darkening corridor. Hermione met his eyes, and timidly looked away, the movement of her head causing a strand of hair to fall in front of her face. He brushed it back, tucking it behind her ear, and she shivered.

'I don't know,' he said simply. 'I do want to see you again, though. I want to find out.'

Hermione nodded. 'I guess I do too, it's just…' She looked upwards, finally meeting his gaze; Draco could pick out both hope and fear. 'It's all happened so quickly…'

Draco grinned, and then nodded seriously, 'I know it has. So lets… lets do something together tomorrow. Go for a walk outside. It looks like the weather should be good, if a little cold.' He shut his mouth, feeling a rather unfamiliar mixture of foolishness and vulnerability settle over him. He stared at Hermione; suddenly very aware of the time it took her to answer him, and felt a swoop of relief when he saw her face light up.

'Alright,' Hermione agreed, smiling. 'What time? I still have that transfiguration essay to do for McGonagall…'

'I don't think any of our teachers are really going to mind about late work,' Draco pointed out with a grin. He noticed a disapproving look flash into her eyes, something he imagined her wearing when Potter and Weasley weren't doing their homework, and laughed inwardly. 'But lets say the afternoon, to be safe. Meet me in the Entrance Hall at four?'

She nodded her agreement, and turned to leave for the Gryffindor Tower. Before she could move, however, Draco had planted the barest whisper of a kiss on her cheek, murmured a 'Goodnight,' and walked away, leaving her alone in the corridor. Turning, she was just in time to see him begin descending a flight of stairs. Touching a finger to the place he had kissed her, she watched after him for a moment, then turned and left.

~*~

Ron looked up to see Madam Pomfrey bustle over from dealing with an unfortunate sixth year that had been hit with a Reduction Hex. He'd been hoping she'd come over for quite some time; after a good meal, some potions and a lot of sleep, he'd woken up this morning feeling absolutely fine, and had been wanting to leave ever since.

'So, Mr Weasley, how are you feeling now?' she asked, beaming brightly at him. 'Did you drink all those potions?'

'Yes,' he sighed, screwing his face up as he remembered the taste. 'All of them.'

'Good, good. Any aches and pains?' she asked, pulling out her wand and muttering a few spells, presumably to check on his well-being.

'No, none.'

She nodded, muttered a few more spells, then finally put the wand away. 'Very well then, Mr. Weasley, you seem fine. It's about an hour before lunchtime. Miss Granger should be in the Gryffindor dormitories; she tried to come and see you earlier, but of course visits are banned till most of these poor people are better, I really can't be having with the entire school trying to see their friends…'

She rambled on, but Ron paid no attention, too glad to be finally getting out of the Hospital Wing. He was already dressed – the house elves had brought some of his own clothes from his room that morning – and so Madam Pomfrey could fuss him out of the room with great speed. 

As he walked towards the exit, he passed the bed where he'd seen Dumbledore place Harry – was it only the night before? It seemed like an eternity ago. The curtains were drawn. Ron paused, and would have asked Madam Pomfrey how Harry was, but she had already turned to treat a Ravenclaw who appeared to have lost the power of speech.

Still, Ron thought as he closed the Hospital Wing door behind him and began the long trek back to Gryffindor Tower, he did wish the curtains had been open, just a tiny bit, so he could have seen if Harry was alright… Dumbledore had been to him that morning, for his account of the events. Ron had given him everything truthfully, except for the story of Bellatrix and Harry's frightening insanity. These he had left out of his tale completely; Dumbledore didn't appear to have noticed anything.

He didn't want to tell anyone about it, Ron realised; not even Hermione. Harry's actions had scared him deeply, and he didn't want to share them. Plus, Harry probably wouldn't want him to tell anyone either. Ron had seen how Harry had reacted, after he'd regained his sanity, and he knew not to share that story with anyone else.

So he was decided; he wouldn't tell Hermione. And of course, thinking of his other friend brought another occurrence to mind, and Ron scowled as he started trekking up a flight of stairs.

Malfoy. He'd seen how he was acting with her, how she was acting with him, and it has looked suspiciously as though they were… Of course, it was a ridiculous notion: Hermione _loving_ Malfoy, Malfoy _loving_ Hermione. Impossible. But it had seemed that way, from their actions… Hermione might hug himself and Harry, on occasion, and that was perfectly normal. But for her to be _lying in someone's arms_… That rang alarm bells in Ron's mind.

She couldn't be doing it of her own free will. Who would ever love a Malfoy of their own free will? Draco Malfoy, the filthy, insulting, hateful, bigoted, Death-Eater-to-be – although, if he were to become a Death Eater, why had he helped them? – was completely unlovable.

Madam Pomfrey had said that Hermione should be in the Gryffindor Tower; he would talk to her and find out. If she was under some sort of spell, it should be fairly obvious, shouldn't it? And if she weren't… she could give him a decent explanation.

This decided, he climbed the final flight of stairs, gave the password to the Fat Lady, and entered the Common Room. It was exactly as it always was, and he felt a warm surge of familiarity. The crimson and gold decoration was as warm and welcoming as ever; he could even see a fire crackling in the fireplace. Even the chatter was the same; same people, sitting in the same groups, talking and laughing and having fun. It made Ron feel, in a very real way, that the adventure was over and he had returned home.

He stepped inside, letting the portrait hole swing shut behind him, and wound his way through the crowds, looking for Hermione. His progress was hampered by his fellow Gryffindors, who continually stared in wonder at him – they'd heard the stories – and approached to ask questions: what happened, how did you stop the spell, was You-Know-Who there, did you fight him, did you fight Death Eaters, where's Harry, is he alright?

Ron answered them all as quickly as he could, not really paying attention to any of the questioners, scanning the room for Hermione. Eventually, he spotted her, sitting in one corner, doing work as usual. The sight made him smile; only Hermione Granger would be doing schoolwork the day after getting back from Voldemort's prison.

He pushed his way through the people, making his way slowly to her corner. She looked up as he approached, and smiled widely, obviously delighted to see him.  

'Ron! Oh, I'm so glad you're out of the Hospital Wing; I was worried there was something wrong… Are you alright? Is Harry still okay?'

'I'm fine,' he said firmly, 'and I expect Harry is too; Madam Pomfrey didn't tell me, and she'd have told me if anything was wrong.'

'Oh, that's good, I was really worried. I wanted to visit you both, but Madam Pomfrey won't let anyone in… Will you tell me what happened with Harry now? There've been the most ridiculous rumours; someone said you were fighting a Manticore, of all things…'

'We weren't,' Ron told her. 'But before I tell you anything, I want an explanation.'

'What? Oh…' she said, realising. 'About me and… Draco…' Her cheeks tinged slightly red. Ron frowned.

'Malfoy. His name is _Malfoy_.'

Hermione looked down and bit her lip. 'I'd prefer to call him Draco…'

'That's completely…' he searched for an appropriate word, 'unnatural,' he said finally, 'and weird,' he added for good measure. Hermione didn't answer. Ron shook his head, sighed, and sat down beside her. 'Does he have you under some kind of Dark spell? The Imperious?'

Hermione snorted. 'Don't be ridiculous, no one in our year could use any of the Unforgivables…'

Ron flinched at that; only slightly, so that she didn't notice, but the irony in her words was too much. Harry, after all, had used one of the Unforgivables… Perhaps he should tell her? But no, no, he shouldn't do that… 'Wouldn't put it past him…' Ron muttered lamely, trying to return to the conversation. He went back to the original subject. 'How do I know you aren't under a spell?'

'Am I acting like I'm under a spell?' Hermione sighed. 'You can't tell, basically. You just have to trust me, Ron. I'm not under a spell.'

Ron looked at her, searching her face for any sign that she was lying. She wasn't. She looked honest and open and truthful; worried and perhaps a little guilty. He searched far longer than he should have, not willing to admit the other alternative, the possibility that…

He sighed, putting his head in his hands. 'This is so screwed up.'

She didn't contradict him, but remained silent for a time. 'Ron,' she said at last, 'I know this is a little… strange. But I do think that I… I like him, at least, as a friend if nothing else. I found out a lot about him in that dungeon. I know we weren't there for long, but I did see another side of him. And I like the person he is when he's not being mean to us, when he's not putting up that act, because it was an act, all those times he was horrible.' She paused, and when she continued her voice was even quieter than before. 'Can you try to forget about them?'

'It's not exactly easy, you know,' Ron said irritably. Malfoy had been his enemy for so long that he couldn't very well forget it all in an instant.  The endless taunts at his family, his home, his money, his friends, plus the daily 'Weasel' comments... they were rather hard to forget. Odd, wasn't it, how forgiveness worked? He could easily forgive a hideous Dark spell from one of his best friends, but not a handful of petty insults from an enemy. Hermione obviously could forgive those insults. And she was a smart witch; he should have faith in her judgement, and if she asked him to give Malfoy a second chance…

'I'll try,' he offered grudgingly, and Hermione beamed. 'But I'm not promising anything, alright?'

'Alright,' she grinned. 'And thanks.'

Ron grumbled and fidgeted a bit. 'Hermione,' he asked at last, 'you never said whether you…'

'Whether I what?'

'_You_ know.' He looked up at her. 'You were all cuddled up together when I came in…'

'Oh! Whether I…?'She blushed a little. 'I don't really know… I mean, we kissed a few times…'

'You _kissed_ him?' Ron asked incredulously, loud enough to draw considerable attention from the surrounding room. Hermione glared at him. 'Sorry,' he said, looking abashed.

When people's attentions had moved away, Hermione replied. 'Yes I did. And there is _absolutely nothing_ wrong with that. I wanted to, he wanted to, it was completely mutual and if anyone tries to…'

'Calm down, calm down.' Ron cut her off hastily. 'I didn't mean anything; you just took me by surprise. I mean…'

He broke off there, conscious of her glare. After a pause, Hermione spoke.

'Well, I kissed him. But I'm not sure how I feel… I mean, I do like him, a lot, but it's only been a few days… It all seems so sudden.'

Ron sighed inwardly. Hermione looked downcast, and he realised that this was where he should say something inspirational and supportive to cheer her up. The only thing was, he really didn't want her within a mile of that Slytherin git…

He swallowed his hatred for Malfoy and mustered what he hoped was a supportive smile. 'Hermione,' he told her, 'just follow your heart. Do what you think is right. You know I'll stand by you no matter what.' It was the kind of thing they said in books; completely trite and ridiculous, but it made Hermione smile.

'Thanks.' She said, and gave him a quick short hug that took him by surprise. 'I'm glad you feel that way… But you still haven't told me what happened to you and Harry.'

Sighing, Ron began the exact same story he'd told Dumbledore, again omitting the part where Harry had gone insane. It was harder, this time, to miss it out; he felt he should tell Hermione everything. Only the memory of Harry's painful guilt kept him from telling her, the echo of the last words he'd said: _I'm the one who deserves to die more._

He told Hermione everything else, and then answered her numerous questions until it was time for lunch.

~*~

Draco nervously climbed the stairs from the Slytherin dungeons to find Hermione already waiting for him in the Entrance Hall, wrapped in a thick winter cloak, scarf and gloves. He smiled to see her, and crossed to her side.

'How are you?' was the first thing he asked. She looked up, startled from her thoughts by his voice.

'Oh, I'm fine,' she replied. 'Still a little worried about Harry, though. And you?'

'I'm fine as well,' he assured her, and then there seemed to be nothing more to say. They turned, walking side by side, and headed for the grounds.

It was a cold day; they could feel the ice in the air, and Draco wondered how long they had before the first frosts coated the ground with white. The trees were already bare, and when the ice-laden wind blew, it whistled and clattered its way through their branches. Winter was fast approaching.

They walked in near silence, talking about nothing in particular. School, mostly, and lessons, and things they'd read in books. It annoyed Draco somewhat; they were meant to be talking about… other things. What they felt. What they were going to do about it…

They came, at length, to a place that was perfect for taking a rest in. It was bounded by trees on three sides, and the lake on the fourth, and in the centre was a collection of rocks that made a perfect seating place.

'How about a rest?' Draco suggested, although he wasn't tired. It might be easier, sitting down together, to bring the topic up. Especially in this clearing; it was idyllic, the stuff of Christmas cards, but for the lack of snow.

He sat down next to her, on the smoothest of the rocks. Something caught his eye: initials, scratched into the rock. LW, a heart, and then TM. Somehow it gave him determination, that this was a place where these things had happened before. Where they could happen again.

'Have you done the Transfiguration essay?' Hermione asked, breaking the silence. 'I started it, but then Ron came along and started talking. I only have a little more to do though…'

Draco cut her off. 'We both know we aren't here to talk about schoolwork.'

She sighed; just a small sigh, and gave him a weak smile. 'It made me feel less nervous to talk about it, though.'

'Don't be nervous,' he said vaguely, playing with a fold of his cloak. 'Don't be.'

'It's hard not to.'

'Perhaps…' Another pause; long and heavy with the things that needed to be said. This time, it was Hermione that spoke.

'It's just… It's only been a few days. Days! I know we spent a lot of time – all the time – together, and I found out a lot about you, but… I don't know, it just seems so sudden.'

'Does it?' he asked, turning his silver eyes towards her. 'I feel as though it's been forever.' And it did; the time they'd spent together in the dungeon stretched out on his mind, as if every day were a year.

She nodded, looking down. 'I just… Draco, I do care about you, and I do like you, and I… drat, I don't know what I feel. I don't know whether to trust myself. I don't even know what I'd do if I did trust myself. It's all so…'

'Confused?'

She nodded, and Draco paused before speaking. 'Only you can know what you want. But I… I know what I feel, and I know what I want. I don't understand why I want it, but still…'

She didn't look up to meet his gaze, but instead she closed her own eyes, her forehead creased as though she was trying to work something out. He waited for her, patiently, hopefully, fearfully, because he knew that she was deciding what she felt. Every heartbeat lasted a year, every breath a century, time itself crystallizing into raindrops that clung to bare branches.

And then her eyes opened, and met his, and before she even spoke he had his answer.

'I want… I want to try it. Try being…' She didn't say the words, but he knew them, and his heart soared strangely, something he'd never felt before. 'I feel like I've known you forever, even though it's just been a few days. The real you, I mean. And I feel like I've fallen in…'

Their eyes met; she never finished the sentence. Before, time had stopped; now it ended, so that there would be no more days or nights, no more years or minutes, decades or seconds. Only the endless, infinite now, reforming itself constantly to keep from slipping into the past, the now where their eyes met and nothing else mattered but that.

'What do you feel?' The question was whispered, almost silent; Draco knew the answer.

'This.'

Their lips met once more; this time gentle, soft as snow on a rose petal, or dew on the grass. Time flooded back with a rush as they wrapped their arms around each other – she shivered – and kissed as though the world would end; warm together even as the icy wind blew around them, and the first few drops of rain began to fall.

~*~

**A/N:**  I must say I like that final paragraph… but that's of no importance. What is important is what YOU thought of it all, so send in those reviews!


	14. Confessing

_Magnanimous Chapter 14 – Confessing_

**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter and all related characters, objects and places are owned by J.K.Rowling.

**Thanks for 283 reviews goes to: **taragoddess, Vfoxy713, Lyra Silvertongue2, Draco'sSLAVE, jules37, Chiinoyami-chan, Saotoshi (x2),  InsanitySquirrel321, KrystyWroth, Sam8, firehottie, animegirl-mika, Rebecca15, WormmonABC, Kou Shun'u, mutsumi, Subzer0-degrees, sakura angel90, Kersten Cheyne, willowfairy.

**A/N:** This week's chapter is extra-long, because there were too many things that needed to fit into it. Although, as one of my betas said sarcastically, 'Yes, because everyone will _really mind_ reading _more_ of your writing.' Its approximately a three-page excess, so sit back and enjoy.

As for finishing… This is **not** the final chapter, there's at least one more to come. Fifteen will probably be the last… After Magnanimous, I'm going to do a lot of work on the book-length I mentioned before (Fallen) over Christmas, and I intend to begin posting that in very early January.

My waffling done, here's the chapter. Enjoy.

~*~

Hermione returned to the Gryffindor Common room, her hair still wet from the rain but her clothes dried with a spell, to find that Ron was waiting for her in their usual corner, folding and unfolding a piece of parchment as he stared moodily into space. Still wearing a vague, unconscious kind of smile, she made her way over to him and sat down.

'Hey, Ron,' she smiled. He returned the greeting tonelessly, which was followed by a short, tense silence to which Hermione was completely oblivious. Ron had expected nothing less; she'd been on a walk with _him_ after all, and Hermione's distraction had a perfectly obvious explanation that turned his stomach when he thought of it.

He didn't dwell on this, but instead brought up the topic he'd been thinking of for the past half-hour, ever since he'd been told the news. 'Guess what? Harry's awake.'

Hermione's face lit up, beaming with happiness. 'Really? Oh, that's brilliant! I'm so glad, I was beginning to worry… he is alright isn't he? Nothing wrong with him?'

'Nothing anyone's told me about. He's staying in a bit longer, observation… we should be able to visit soon, once more people get let out.'

The mention of visiting brought a strange twist to his stomach. He had to bring it up; after all, Hermione was still friends with Harry, and he with her. But still… Seeing Harry again, after what had happened, wasn't something Ron wanted to do. It would be incredibly awkward at best. At worst… Ron didn't want to think about at worst.

Hermione, on the other hand, looked overjoyed at the prospect of visiting Harry and didn't seem to have noticed Ron's ashen, blank look or his neutral tone. Her eyes were twinkling with happiness, and her smile stretching wide, 'Really? How soon? We have to visit as soon as we can. I was… really, really scared. In the dungeon, when I thought one of you was going to die…' She trailed off, momentarily sad, but brightened up again. 'But you didn't. So its pointless thinking about it, isn't it?'

Ron made a non-committal noise in his throat, and fidgeted nervously. 'Yeah, I'm glad we're both alive as well,' he said, needlessly. 'But… would you mind if I… didn't come with you to see Harry?'

She frowned and her mood seemed to sharpen.  She stared inquisitively at him. 'Why not?'

'Because… well, because…' The temptation to tell her what had happened rose again, but he pushed it away. Harry could tell her, if he wanted her to know… He'd told her that the argument over whether they should go or not, over what he'd said about Sirius, had carried on over their journey. But that wasn't enough reason not to want to see your friend after he'd nearly died… Wasn't it?

'Just… it was really uncomfortable, after that argument we had, and I know he's still sore about it… It would just be awkward,' Ron finished lamely, avoiding Hermione's probing stare.

Hermione narrowed her eyes. 'Ron, Harry's been your friend for over five years. And you're trying to tell me you don't want to go and visit him after he nearly died because you had an argument over Sirius and you'd feel awkward?'

'Well, it would be awkward…'

'Awkward or not, you should go and see him anyway. It was days ago, you've managed to get through Voldemort's traps together, I should think you could manage a half-hour's visit,' she told him severely. 'Why are you trying to get out of it anyway? Surely you can't feel that bad over your argument… are you afraid that if you apologise he won't accept it? Because…'

'No, no, it's not that,' Ron cut in quickly, knowing as well as she did that, after Harry had taken a few days to cool down, he'd accept Ron's apology quite happily. 'It's… Can you just accept that it would be a really, really bad idea for me to see him now?'

'Something's wrong, isn't it?' Hermione asked, frowning as she realised. 'Something more than that argument…'

'No… alright, yes.' Ron finally admitted with a sigh as Hermione fixed him with her best glare.  He drew in a breath. 'But I'm not going to tell you.'

'Why not?' she asked incredulously. 'You know I'm…'

'Yes, yes, I know,' he interrupted hastily, his eyes fixed on his hands which where twining and untwining agitatedly as he spoke. 'But… Its Harry's to tell, really. Not mine. He's the one who… did the thing that caused this, and it's his decision to tell you or not. Can you… can you understand that?'

Hermione was silent for a moment, her expression worried, but finally she nodded. 'Yes,' she said at last, 'I think I understand what you mean. I'll… I'll ask him, then.'

They lapsed into silence; Ron fidgeting in his seat, Hermione staring into space with a troubled expression. At last, if only to break the silence, Ron brought up the other topic that had been plaguing him.

'I take it the meeting with Malfoy went well?'

Her eyes came back into focus at that; she smiled and gave him a mildly reproachful look. 'Draco, not Malfoy. And yes, it went well…'

'I assume I'll hear every gory detail from Lavender and Parvati tomorrow.' Ron made a face, and Hermione gave him a vexed glare.

'I'm not going to go gossiping around just because I have a boyfriend…'

Ron nearly gagged. '_Boyfriend?_'

She blushed. 'Well, yes… it seems like the logical thing to do, now,' she added lightly.

Ron forced himself to refrain from commenting on how completely _illogical_ a thing it seemed to be – Draco Malfoy's girlfriend! – but restrained himself. 'Well, that's… nice…' he managed to say eventually.

She laughed. 'You're trying not to throw up at the mere idea, aren't you?' Her voice wasn't angry; rather, it was gently teasing, and Ron felt suddenly as though he were a five-year-old, acting in some amusing way.

'I'm not,' he denied defensively. He swallowed, trying to assemble a more neutral expression on his features. 'It's a bit… unusual, but I really think you should do what you want to do…'

Hermione gave him a careful, scrutinising look. 'No, you're only saying that. You probably will mean it when you get used to the idea, though.' With her next sentence, her voice lost its amused tone, and she sighed. 'Wonder what Harry will say…'

Ron shrugged, tensing at the mere mention of his name. 'Haven't a clue, but tell him when he isn't near any sharp objects, or he may just decide that murdering Mal – _Draco_, then – is an acceptable answer to the problem.'

'I'll be lucky if that's all he wants to do,' she sighed. 'Harry hates Draco. A lot. And he doesn't have any clue what's been going on… doesn't even know that we were locked up together. It's going to be very sudden, very shocking and very hard for him to accept.'

Ron nodded his agreement, and they sat in silence for a few minutes, each thinking about Harry, although what they thought was not similar at all. Finally, Hermione spoke.

'I still have that Transfiguration essay to finish,' she mentioned. 'I'll do it now, and keep the evening free in case I can get in to see Harry…'

Ron nodded. 'Going to the library, I assume?'

'Of course. It's too loud here. I'll just go and get my things… you don't mind, do you?'

'No, not at all,' he replied, and with that Hermione got to her feet and headed in the direction of the girl's staircase. When she came down with her things, five minutes later, she had the same vague smile on her face as she had when she entered the common room. After a wide smile in Ron's direction, she headed for the portrait hole and left.

Ron sighed. At least one of them was happy…

~*~

'Draco! Give it back.'

'Give what back?'

'My inkpot. You know, the one that was sitting right in front of me a minute ago?'

'An inkpot? Hmm, I don't recall seeing an inkpot, Hermione. Maybe you're hallucinating.'

'I'm not hallucinating!' Hermione replied, her attempt at being irritated ruined by the fact that she couldn't keep herself from laughing. 'Give me back my inkpot, Draco, I need to finish this essay.'

Scowling a little, he pulled it out from under the table and handed it to her. 'Sorry, but watching you write about…' – he put his head on one side, reading the title written on her parchment, ' 'The Difficulties Inherent In Transfiguring A Non-Edible Object Into An Article Of Consumption' – which is a ridiculous title, by the way – is not the most riveting way to spend an afternoon. Talk to me.'

'You sounded like a whiny five-year-old when you said that,' she teased. He hadn't, but she enjoyed the look of horror that passed over his face.

'I _never_ whine,' Draco protested, shaking his head so vehemently that several fine strands of his silvery hair fell into his eyes. He brushed them away. 'Never, never, never.'

'Except when you want me to talk to you. Just be patient, Draco, I'm almost done as it is.'

'Alright, but be quick,' he instructed her, absent-mindedly picking up her inkpot and running his fingers over the glass, across the smooth, rounded edges. Hermione rolled her eyes, plucked it out of his hand, and went back to writing.

She was aware of his eyes on her as she wrote; watching as she scratched the quill across the paper, crossing every 't' and dotting every 'i', dipping the quill into the inkpot and scribbling another line or two, words, sentences, paragraphs. She didn't mind him watching her; it wasn't a scrutinising, evaluating, curious look, but simply one of mild interest. And, she thought on the few occasions when she glanced up to meet his gaze with a smile, it was a softer, gentler look than he'd ever have worn even a week ago.

She finished, eventually, and placed the last full stop with a smile. Rolling the parchment up, she began replacing everything in her bag, while Draco waited patiently. At last, she leaned back in her chair and relaxed.

'Anything interesting happened in the half-hour or so since I saw you last?' he asked with a mild curiosity.

'Some things,' she said, a mingled expression of happiness and distress coming to her face. 'Harry's awake, according to Ron, and I'm fairly sure he's going to be okay. Which is good, I was worried. Though Ron won't go and visit – when Madam Pomfrey lets in visitors again, that is – because of that argument… You heard it, didn't you? The one over…' Hermione trailed off. 'Oh. You don't know about that…'

'About Sirius Black?' Draco asked. 'I _am_ the son of a Death Eater, Hermione. I know all about it. Peter Pettigrew's not really dead, Black was innocent and living in hiding, then he got killed at the Department of Mysteries. And he was a friend of Harry's father, which was why Harry got so upset over it…'

Hermione nodded, feeling strangely uneasy. 'Harry's godfather.'

Draco merely nodded. 'I know enough to understand what their argument was about. So they're still being awkward over that?'

'Ron said something else happened,' Hermione admitted, 'but he wouldn't tell me what.'

This made Draco frown; a thoughtful frown, as though he were working on a particularly tricky Arithmancy problem. 'Intriguing. What do you intend to do?'

'Ask Harry what happened,' she replied simply, with a tiny shrug of her shoulders. 'Then try to get Ron to visit him. It might be impossible, but they can't stay like this forever…'

'Hopefully not.' Draco agreed. Hermione found it suddenly odd; to be discussing Harry and Ron's friendship with Draco was… strange. Draco still belonged in a completely separate world, back in a pure white prison, a world of pain and fear and hope and first-kisses… At Hogwarts, he was supposed to be the enemy; and occasionally she was struck by just how much things had changed.

'Why do you say that?' she asked before thinking, and had to quickly clarify. 'I mean, you hated Harry and Ron until a few days ago, and now we're discussing the state of their friendship…'

He was silent for a moment, before saying, as though the thought irritated him, 'Well, if they fight that'll upset you.'

The honest reply surprised her, and she laughed a little. 'And you don't want to see me upset?'

'No. Which is annoying because I'm not supposed to care,' he said, examining his hands as though he could read the future from the delicate lines engraved in his pale skin. 'But then, I've done a lot of things I'm not supposed to do lately.'

'Like fall in love?'

'Yes.'

Hermione beamed widely at that, and leaned over to kiss his cheek. He smiled too, but the moment was ruined by a small scream from a corner nearby, and an outbreak of loud and excited whispers. Looking over, they saw a group of third-year Slytherins who had evidently been watching them with some interest.

Draco sighed. 'By the time the sun sets, the entire school will know about us. By breakfast tomorrow, there will be approximately… shall we say twenty wild rumours flying around? Some of which will involve marriage proposals and teenage pregnancy, I've no doubt. That seems about right.'

Hermione chuckled, then shrugged. 'It doesn't matter. They'll talk; it'll be embarrassing and annoying for a few weeks… I'm kind of used to it. Being a close friend of The Boy Who Lived will do that, especially after all those rumours in fourth year…'

'The ones about you, Krum and Harry?' Draco asked, smirking. 'I remember. Completely ridiculous, even I could tell that.'

She nodded. 'So I don't mind the rumours that much. Ron knows, of course… I don't think he could help but notice…' 

'Is he intending to creep into the Slytherin dormitories and torture me to death?' Draco enquired. 'It'd be useful to know beforehand. Give me time to return my library books, that kind of thing.'

Hermione laughed and swatted lightly at his arm. 'No, actually he was very understanding about it. I'm fairly sure he's completely repulsed by the idea, though, and he's just forcing himself to accept it for my sake… He'll get used to it,' she finished. 'Harry might be a different case. It's always really been you and him that were the rivals; Ron and I were just his back-up and kept stepping into the firing line.'

Draco nodded slowly. 'Best to tell him as soon as you can, while he's still in the Hospital Wing and can't get out of bed. Gives him some time to calm down.' He paused after this; his eyes narrowing as he glanced over to the third-years, who were still watching them in something between amazement and horror.

'Those kids are beginning to annoy me,' he muttered. 'You'd think they'd seen more than a kiss on the cheek… Well,' he trailed off thoughtfully, a grin forming on his face and a slightly evil twinkle in his eye, 'we may as well give them something _really _interesting to gossip about…'

'What do you mean…' Hermione began, but was soon cut off as Draco leaned towards her, wrapping his arms around her waist. 'Oh, no, not in here, we're in a library for goodness' sake…'

She was cut off as he kissed her firmly on the lips. After a moment's pause, she gave in, kissing him back and mentally grinning to herself over the outbreak of scandalised whispers from the next table along. If she was going to shock the school with such an unusual relationship as theirs, she was certainly not going to do anything by halves…

~*~

Harry couldn't sleep.

Not that he wanted to, particularly. He'd spent a day unconscious already, and that had been plagued with nightmares, and images, and memories. Everything from the vague memory of his parent's death to Dudley's taunts and bullying, fighting Quirrel, the Basilisk and seeing Voldemort's return, Cedric, Sirius, and the insane, unreal moment when he'd lost his sanity and tortured first Bellatrix, then his own friend…

He sighed, turning over in his bed, agitated. Night had already fallen – it was getting earlier and earlier – and the darkness fitted well with his mood. Of course, the Hospital Wing was still lit, albeit dimly. Although the curtains were drawn around his bed, he had a large gap left open, so that he could see what was going on. Two windows were clearly visible; outside them was perfect, unbroken blackness, as though this room was all there was of the world, and outside it there was nothing else but pain and misery.

Of course, that was all there was inside the room as well. Dumbledore had been in, to have his version of events, and Harry had painfully avoided mentioning what he'd done. He'd expected Dumbledore to bring it up, and couldn't bring himself to say it aloud, but to his surprise it hadn't been mentioned. So either Dumbledore was keeping quiet about it, or Ron hadn't told him… Probably the latter; victims of pain and crime were well known for not speaking about it…

'Mr Potter?'

It was Madam Pomfrey's voice, and Harry turned over to see the school nurse twitching back the curtain and smiling amicably at him. He attempted to smile in return, but he could tell without seeing it that it was a weak, watery smile. Still, Madam Pomfrey didn't appear to mind.

'Now, I'm not letting many people in to visit, mind, there's still too many injured in here…' she began, and Harry's heart filled with dread. Hermione would know, surely, and it was only she or Ron that would come and visit…

'It's alright, I don't mind not having visitors, I wouldn't want you to let visitors in while people are still ill and you're overworked…' Harry said quickly, trying to dissuade her from allowing anyone in, but she just smiled.

'She's been past here three times in the past five hours asking when she could see you,' Madam Pomfrey pointed out kindly. 'If I don't let her in, she'll have a breakdown from the worry and be joining you herself, I've no doubt.'

'Hermione, then?' Harry asked, his dread receding slightly. It would still be difficult, talking to her when she knew what… what he'd done, but it would be better, a thousand times better, than if Ron had come.

'Yes, yes. She's very worried, you know… But Mr Weasley hasn't been by once, strangely enough. Maybe he's asleep, or something. Recovering from that _ordeal_.'

Harry didn't meet her eyes, feeling quite sick. 'We had… a fight,' he explained numbly, giving no more detail that that.

'Ah, you teenage boys…' she clucked. 'Always fighting about something. It's the age; you never have as much common sense as you ought at your age… Never mind, you'll make up soon enough. And I've chattered for far too long, I'm sure you'd far rather talk to your friend… Miss Granger?' She turned away, vanishing from Harry's line of vision, and he didn't bother to turn his head so that he could see her. 

He heard the soft scraping sound of someone pulling up a chair, a creak as they sat down, and then a familiar worried voice asking, 'Harry?'

Reluctantly, he turned towards Hermione with the brightest smile he could muster – not very bright, but he didn't want her to worry. 'Hey, Hermione,' he said. She looked fretful, and he could see that the past few days hadn't treated her well; she looked pale and thin, though thankfully he could pinpoint no visible signs of injury.

'Harry.' She smiled, relief spreading over her face. 'Are you alright? I heard – one of the Death Eaters told me – that anyone who tried to stop the curse would die, I was so scared…'

'I'm fine,' he assured her. He was, physically. 'Dumbledore has a theory about how I did that… how I managed to survive. You know how…' he brushed his scar absently with a finger, 'how I'm kind of… connected to Voldemort?'

She nodded, looking puzzled, and then realisation spread over her face. 'Oh! And Voldemort set the spell up, and he was the one who could turn it off, so when you tried it…'

'It nearly killed me, but because I was connected to him, it didn't,' Harry finished. He smiled again, and it was easier this time; she hadn't yet spoken of what had happened with Ron, and it was almost possible to forget what she was surely going to say…

'I wish I'd thought of that sooner,' she said with a tremulous smile. 'I might have been less worried.'

Harry couldn't think of a reply, and the conversation lapsed into silence. Hermione fidgeted in her chair – obviously, thought Harry as his nausea returned, she was worried about how to bring up the subject.

'Ron said…' she began, and a peculiar, paralysing, icy dread began to creep over Harry. He lay completely still, staring at the high ceiling, waiting for her to continue. 'Ron said that you'd fought over something… He wouldn't tell me what, but I know it must have been bad, because he doesn't want to come and visit… He said it was something you did, and I should ask you. So… tell me?'

Harry closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, and trying to calm himself. So she didn't know, Ron hadn't told her. Relief and guilt and pain and misery and worry all seared through him simultaneously…

'No.' he said briefly, without thinking about it., 'I can't… I can't tell you about it. It's too…'

'Too what?' She broke in, her voice sounding worried again.

'Too painful to remember,' he admitted, and shuddered before opening his eyes. 'Is… Is Ron mad at me?'

He didn't know why he'd asked that; certainly he expected no answer other than that Ron was furious, hurt and rage-filled, even if he hid it. But Harry had to ask, because he had to know whether there was any spark of hope to cling to at all.

'No.' Hermione said, and it took Harry by surprise. 'At least, he didn't act like it. He acted just… awkwardly, oddly.'

'He hates me,' Harry said firmly, swallowing down the painful lump in his throat. 'He has to hate me, after what happened. He's just hiding it…'

'How could Ron ever hate you?' Hermione whispered.

He didn't answer that, just looked away, and a second uncomfortable silence settled over them. When he glanced towards her, she was rubbing the joint of her thumb nervously, looking distracted and uncomfortable. As though she had something to say, but didn't know how to say it.

'You do know about what happened, don't you?' Harry asked pessimistically. 'You're hiding something from me, I can see it.'

'What?' Hermione looked up in surprise. 'I don't know what happened, I swear it.'

'Then what are you hiding?' Harry demanded, his eyes flashing almost angrily. He hated people keeping secrets and hiding information and not _telling_ him things, ever since the beginning of fifth year…

'Something not to do with Ron.' She sighed, bowing her head, so that her bushy brown hair fell forward and hid her face. She didn't bother to smooth it back. 'You know how… how Draco gave us the instructions and came with us and helped us?'

'Yes…' Harry replied shortly, and then added, 'And why did you call him _Draco_?'

'I'll get to that.' She paused again. 'Well, when we ran into that sandstorm, remember how Draco yelled at us all to lie down and wait it out? He managed to get me to, but you and Ron ran off. So then we were stuck together… and then got captured by Death Eaters. It was my fault,' she added, before Harry could speak, 'I thought they were you and Ron. False hopes…'

Harry nodded, frowning and watching her. Where was this leading? 'So you were stuck with Malfoy the Slytherin bastard?'

She stiffened, biting her lip. 'Please don't call him that…' she said, her voice soft. 'He… well. Just don't.'

This make Harry even more puzzled, but he nodded. 'Go on,' he told her.

'Well, we were taken to a dungeon and locked up together. And… I learnt a lot about him. It wasn't a very long time, but I found out a lot of things. Like why he was so mean to us, and why he went against his father, and what he's really like when he isn't being… a Slytherin bastard, like you said.' She looked up, and gave him a wan smile. He could see that she was trembling, slightly, and looked almost afraid. A thought struck Harry.

'Did he hurt you?' he growled, and even he was surprised by the menace in his voice. Hermione was startled, and shook her head emphatically.

'No, no, he didn't hurt me at all. Not at all,' she assured him. 'But what did happen is that… that…'

She trailed off. 'Well?' Harry asked. 'What happened? You're shaking, Hermione, obviously he did something to scare you…'

'Harry…' Her voice was so soft he had to strain to hear it. 'It's not him I'm frightened of… it's you. You won't react well to this…'

'Just _tell _me. I'm not going to hurt you because of something _he's_ done to you.'

Hermione shook her head. 'There's no easy way to say this…' She took a breath, looked him in the eyes, and said it. 'We kissed. Draco and I. And then we talked about it, and we're going out.'

There was a moment of absolute, pure and silent shock 'What?'

'You… you heard what I said,' Hermione looked away, and then looked back, seeming to force herself to meet his eyes. 'And don't start asking if he's got me under some spell, because he hasn't. He's… he's completely different when you get to know him properly…'

But Harry wasn't listening. 'What's he done to you?' he hissed venomously. 'Have you lost your mind? This is _Malfoy_, he's been insulting you for _years_, and you spend a few days locked up with him and suddenly he's your _boyfriend_?'

'Harry, please…' Hermione pleaded desperately, but Harry was gripped by a silent, angry kind of rage; rage born of shock, of horror, of years spent in deadly rivalry. He was beyond the point of listening to her.

'That _bastard_…' he spat. 'I'll kill him! I'll make him wish he'd never been born, I…'

He broke off suddenly, staring without seeing at the distant wall of the Hospital Wing, eyes widening in horror. Hadn't he felt exactly the same before, faced with Bellatrix, faced with Ron, hadn't he felt just this desire to hurt, to injure, to kill… No, no, he mustn't let himself feel like this, he couldn't let himself hurt anyone again, no, no…

'No…' It broke free of his lips without thought, a strangled syllable, and broke the silence. He was aware of Hermione leaning over him, alarm in her eyes.

'Harry?' she asked tentatively. 'What happened? You just… I don't know, you were raging and then you went all silent like you'd seen… something horrible…'

'I… I saw… a memory, I suppose.' He looked over at her, feeling a sudden wave of revulsion at the thought of her and Malfoy together, but pushed it away. 'Do what you want. Go out with Malfoy. But be careful. Be careful…'

She didn't look appeased. If anything, she seemed even more worried. 'What… what's wrong? You were angry a moment ago, and then you went all weird and changed your mind… what made you do that?'

'A memory,' he repeated again. 'I… I got angry like that before…'

He glanced upwards, saw the concern and worry and fear written on her face, and realised that he had to tell her. 'I… Ron and I… we ran into Bellatrix. The one who killed Sirius.'

Harry swallowed, and heard Hermione's gasp. 'I… I don't know what happened! I was angry, and she was… She killed him, she killed Sirius… I lost my sanity, I guess. I duelled with her…'

He lost his tongue again, but Hermione prompted him shakily. 'Go on, you can tell me.'

'We duelled. And I… I was so angry. I can't explain it, I can't justify it, but…' His voice dropped to a hoarse whisper. 'I used… the Cruciatius.'

Hermione didn't speak. Glancing towards her, he saw that she had her hands clapped over her mouth, her eyes wide and fearful. He had to finish telling her, now he'd begun. 'Ron… Ron tried to stop me, and she Disapparated. I was angry at him then, for letting her get away… I… _Metue_. You know that curse?'

She nodded bleakly. 'You… used it on him?' Her voice was a squeak, and Harry could only nod in answer, feeling the burning heat of shame and guilt pour through him.

'Oh, _Harry_…' She seemed on the brink of tears. 'Don't… don't be guilty, it's okay. Ron isn't mad at you, he'd forgive you…'

'Don't.' Harry told her forcefully, his throat tightening. 'Don't say… don't say anything. Just… just go.'

'Harry, I…'

'Go!'

She seemed unsure, but Madam Pomfrey's voice broke into the proceedings from far away. 'Miss Granger? It's time to go.'

Hermione gave Harry one last look, a look of worry and sympathy and horror and fear, and stood up, reaching for the edge of the curtain around his bed. 'It's okay, really Harry. I'm still your friend. I'll be here for you. And… and don't be guilty… just don't be.'

She looked over her shoulder then at something behind her, and with a whispered 'Goodbye…' she closed the curtain around his bed, shutting Harry off from the world. In the dark, dim light, he curled up into a ball, and was almost surprised when he touched his face and found it wet with tears he didn't remember crying.

~*~

**A/N:** I don't think there's much to say after that: except to do the usual begging for reviews. Go on, please? Reviews make Harry happy…


	15. Healing

Magnanimous Chapter 15 – Healing 

**Disclaimer: **Characters and places belong to J.K. Rowling. Everything apart from the plot, basically.

**Thanks for 302 reviews go to:** willowfairy, LyraSilvertongue2, foxglove, Saotoshi, alix, Cuppy, Sam8, KrystyWroth, Hermione182, firehottie, lena-jade, InsanitySquirrel321, mutsumi, Sparkle-eyed Dreamer, WormmonABC, Kersten Cheyne, Chiinoyami-chan, PinkTribeChick, awaysheflew.

**A/N:** Yes, this is it. **This is the LAST chapter.**

It's been a very worthwhile fifteen weeks – more than that, since I started writing a few weeks before I began uploading. But fifteen weeks of diligently putting up one chapter every week. And longer chapters than ever before, mind. And I always – apart from one or two occasions when the gods of the internet crapped in my lasagne, or to put it another way, my computer had problems, I did it. Every Tuesday night. Which is quite an achievement, for me – considering I have a complete lack of discipline.

Of course, you shouldn't imagine I did it all myself. Thanks are due to many, many people: **Orchid**, who is an angel at making significant adjustments that simply bring it to life in a very vivid way – without her it would never have been as good as it is – and at betaing on very short notice. **Sophie**, whose nagging to write and readiness to beta – even when I give her the chapter the morning before it's due up – are an inspiration, especially when she surreptitiously betas the fic in Maths lessons(and apologies, Sophie, for the part in this chapter that gave you near-hysterics in the middle of the lesson!) **Simrun**, for not being an official beta at first but stealing the printouts whether I liked it or not, scribbling 'J'aime beaucoup!' and 'Awwwwwww!' all over the pages, and racing out of the room screaming in the middle of chapter 11. And last but not least, to **Lou** – my Weasley Twin! – for being a muse in times of crisis, forcing me to believe in myself, and always being willing to discuss parts with me when I needed to discuss them.

And of course, thanks also go to YOU, my wonderful readers and reviewers: for your excitement, enthusiasm, constructive criticism and support; for bringing a smile to my face at 7:15 am on a freezing Wednesday morning when I go to check my reviews, and giving me more confidence and self-belief than ever before.

With the thanks out of the way, it's time to talk about the future, because if you think I'm going away you must be mad! I still have my book-length fic to come, remember? I'm hoping for Fallen to be out shortly after the New Year; the plotline is rapidly nearing completion – it's much more complex than anything else I've ever written – and I've already begun writing. It's going to be better than all my previous fanfictions rolled into one! So look out for it: D/Hr, with a subplot of H/G.

With all that said… onto the last chapter. Enjoy!

~*~

The common room was no less empty when Hermione returned; although the fires were burning low, their light ruddy and flickering, and the clock on the wall showed that it was almost half past ten. Some students had gone to bed already, but the majority stayed in the richly coloured room, curled on the sofas and chairs, chattering and laughing together. It was the last day of the weekend, and they were all determined to squeeze every precious minute of free time out of the day before the Monday morning came.

Hermione looked over to the place where she'd last seen Ron. He was still there, reading an old, battered book on the Chudley Cannons. He'd read it so often by now that he could probably recite it all from memory, she reflected, but a second look suggested that he wasn't reading at all. The book was open, but his eyes weren't focused on the pages, and he was frowning slightly as though lost in thought.

A spattering of poorly concealed whispers broke out around her as she crossed the room, heading for Ron. She heard the words 'Draco Malfoy' and 'kissing', and realised that the rumours must have spread to the Gryffindors already. She simply chose to ignore them. Squeezing past the gawking Lavender and Parvati, Hermione made her way to Ron's corner and sat down on the couch beside him. He didn't look up; didn't appear to even notice her.

'Ron?'

He started. 'Hermione! Honestly, warn me next time you do that, you'll give me a heart attack!'

Hermione laughed a little at his expression. 'I doubt it,' she said, before sobering up. Closing her eyes, she could still see Harry's face as it had been in the Hospital wing: pale skinned, a long scratch above one eyebrow that hadn't healed yet, his deep green eyes almost black, frighteningly hollow. If she opened them, she knew what she'd see: Ron leaning forward, head bent, anxiety and worry reverberating through his dark eyes. Why was it all so difficult?

'I… I spoke to Harry,' she told him, opening her eyes, and Ron looked up. She met his gaze for a moment – his eyes brimmed with fear and hope – then looked away again. 'He… he told me… what happened. Bellatrix. And then…'

'What he did to me?' His voice was smooth, and in no way bitter or angry. If anything, it was sad. Hermione nodded her reply, bit her lip, and spoke again.

'Are you angry at him?' she asked tentatively. 'Because if you are…'

'I'm not,' he interrupted shortly. 'I should be, perhaps.'

'You'd have a right to be.' Hermione shuddered. 'That curse…'

Ron shook his head, and leaned backwards to rest on the soft, padded sofa back. He turned his face towards Hermione. 'I know. It was…' Breaking off, he shook his head, and Hermione didn't press for any details. 'But… you didn't see what he was like. He was… _insane_. I mean it. It was…' He looked away, a hard knot in is throat.. 'Scary.'

'Scary?'

'I meant what I said. He was insane, Hermione, completely… He wasn't even thinking. Just doing whatever his anger made him do. I've never seen anyone that angry.'

Hermione nodded slowly, mulling this over. 'So you aren't angry?'

'No.' Ron sighed, lacing his fingers and resting his forehead in them, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. 'I _can't_ hate him, Hermione. I can't be angry.  He's my best friend.  Think of everything he's been through…  I can't even begin to imagine all that. It's a wonder he doesn't flip more often, or go around in some kind of depression and try to slit his wrists all the time.  But Harry, he bottles things up... everything up.  She was taunting him, Hermione.' 

Ron choked at the memory; he looked up, resting his chin in his hands, his eyes somehow begging Hermione to understand what he was trying to say.  'He just blew, he lost control... I can't be angry at him; I just couldn't, even if I wanted to be.  I forgive him,' he finished with a strange half-smile.   Hermione was watching him closely,

'You're a good friend Ron,' she said quietly, her face completely serious.  Ron shrugged his shoulders in a tiny gesture, as though it wasn't true and wouldn't matter even if it were.  'Really,' Hermione said, and when Ron ventured a small smile, she returned it with one of her own and a sudden quick hug.  'I'm glad,' she added. 'Because Harry was… awful. Really guilty, really miserable… He wouldn't tell me at first. But then when I told him about… Draco and I, you know… He kind of…' 

She paused, searching for the right word. 'I don't know. He was really angry about it, anyway, and then he just froze with this absolute look of pure horror, and then said I should do what I wanted. So I asked what had happened, and he… he said it was like what happened with you, that he'd felt like that again…'

Ron shuddered, running one slightly shaking hand through his hair. '_Again_? There'd better not be a third time…'

Hermione nodded an agreement, and a new silence fell over them, less tense than before yet still edgy. A few second-years filed past, whispering and pointing at Hermione as they passed, their eyes wide. Rumours again. Well, she'd known what she was getting into when she and Draco agreed to tell the school… She gave the children a warm smile, then her face fell; it produced nothing but another outbreak of whispers.

Sighing, she turned her eyes back to Ron, and fidgeting nervously said, 'Look… You should go and talk to Harry now. Madam Pomfrey…'

He cut her off by shaking his head vehemently. 'No. I'm not going.'

'Why not?'

'I just… I don't want to go, alright? It's too awkward...'

Hermione tried to reason with him. 'I know it's awkward, but you need to get it over with. Harry's really, really miserable, you know. He needs to know that you forgive him.'

'No, he'd just…'

'Yes he does.' Hermione said firmly, not letting him finish his sentence. 'He's suffering and he's miserable and hurt inside, he even said himself that he thinks you hate him, and if you don't go…'

'I can't go.' Ron said gloomily, shaking his head. 'You weren't there after… after it happened. He was really, really, really guilty, and just looking at me… You could see it, it hurt him even more. I imagine the last person he wants to see now is me.'

'It would hurt him to see you.' Hermione said softly, making no attempt to deny it. 'And he probably doesn't want to see you. But you have to go anyway. Because until you go and talk to him and tell him that it's okay, he's going to be lying there, alone, guilty and miserable, hating himself for what he's done… And it'll hurt a little more to see you, but after you tell him you forgive him he'll feel better! I just want him to feel better…'

Her voice, which had been growing in both volume and expression, dropped again at the end, and a troubled look passed over her face. It was this, more than her arguments, that decided Ron; clearly Hermione would carry on worrying until he and Harry sorted the whole thing out.

'I'll go,' he sighed. 'I don't want to, and it'll be horrible and awkward, but I'll go.'

Relief broke across her face. 'Oh, Ron, thanks, I know Harry will…'

Ron nodded, tried to grin – which felt as though his jaw had been shattered into pieces – and stood up. 'Bye then.' He mumbled, ignoring her continuing stream of enthusiastic thanks, and set off before he could lose his nerve.

~*~

Every step had been harder than the one before. The corridors were empty now, as everyone celebrated their narrow escape in their common rooms. Ron saw no one but portraits and ghosts. Every step away from Gryffindor tower, every step towards the Hospital wing, towards Harry, made the journey more and more stupid. Twice he stopped, afraid of what would happen, and had to force himself to go on.

It wasn't that he didn't want to see Harry. Ron did; he was well aware of how miserable his friend would be, and wanted to reassure Harry that he forgave him. But Ron couldn't help but remember Harry's face as it had been after duelling Bellatrix; it had hurt Harry to even look at him. Because he, Ron, was a walking reminder of what Harry had done.

And now he was standing in the middle of the Hospital Wing, scraping the edge of his shoe along the ground and about to have one of the most awkward conversations of his life.

Madam Pomfrey came bustling up from the curtained bed where he knew Harry was lying. 'Alright, Mr. Weasley,' she addressed him with her usual beaming expression, 'I can give you fifteen minutes, but no more.'

Ron nodded dumbly. Fifteen minutes… they'd last an eternity.

'Well, go on then.' Madam Pomfrey said, and Ron realised he'd been staring blankly at the floor, almost in a trance. 'You haven't got all day.'

Ron nodded, briefly, and shuffled unwillingly towards the bed. He could already see, in his mind, Harry's face: twisted and hurt at the mere sight of him, the reminder… Would Harry ever be able to look at him again without flinching at the memory?

The hangings loomed before him, seeming almost menacing, the final, thin barrier between himself and Harry. They were half open on one side, and a straight-backed, angular chair awaited him. Tentatively, eyes fixed on the intricate cracks in the stone paving, Ron slid up to the chair and sat down, facing the bed, facing Harry – but not looking up, fixing his eyes firmly on the floor.

A moment passed, and nothing happened. Filled with an ominous dread, Ron raised his eyes to Harry's face.

He was lying in the bed, flat on his back, straight and stiff and so still that for one horrible moment Ron thought he was dead, before he saw the minute rise-and-fall of his ribcage. Harry was staring straight upwards, his face emotionless, staring blankly at the ceiling high above him.  Ron's mouth felt as dry and gritty as sand, he sucked in a deep breath, summoning all his nerve. 

 'Harry?' he asked hesitantly. There was no response, not a movement, not a sign, and Ron began to pale. This was worse than he'd imagined; guilt, pain, horror, misery Ron had expected, but not this simple blankness, as though Harry was in some kind of trance. 'Harry?' he asked again almost desperately.

Harry's voice was soft when he did speak, so soft that Ron could barely hear it. 'You shouldn't have come…'

'Yes I should.' Ron asserted, even though he himself had been thinking the same thing only seconds earlier. Harry's behaviour had shaken him. 'Harry, don't act like…'

'Go.' It was barely louder then the whispering rustle of the leaves outside. 'Just go…'

'_Harry_…'

'You don't have to say _anything_.' His façade was breaking, now; his voice cracked, and Ron saw one hand shake where it lay upon the blanket. 'I know you hate me. I know that. You don't have to say it. You don't have to speak to me ever again. It was my fault, all my fault, and I don't have any excuse for… for doing that. Just… just go…'

Ron couldn't speak for a moment. 'Harry, don't say that, none of it's true. I don't hate you. I never have…'

'_Don't try to make me feel better_.' This was hissed, but not in anger; it was almost as if Harry was in pain. His eyes closed, screwed up tightly, and he bit his lip. 'It won't work. I know what you think, don't try to lie…'

'I'm not lying!' Ron shouted this, and had to take a deep breath before speaking again, reminding himself that he was in the Hospital Wing and didn't particularly want Madam Pomfrey bursting in on this conversation.  He lowered his voice, keeping the emphatic tone. 'I'm not lying. I don't hate you, Harry. I don't. I mean it.'

Harry didn't speak again, and a tense silence fell over the two, so thick and oppressive that it seemed to crush the whole world down to just the two of them, just this corner enclosed by thick drapes, these actions, these words. Everything stood out sharply, more defined; the abnormally quick breathing of Harry, the way Ron picked nervously at the fraying edge of his robe, the soft sheen of the bed's hangings, the crumples in Harry's pillows, the angular lines of the chair. And above all, the feeling as though the air had turned to thick oil, the heaviness and weight in everything, rich and syrupy and dark.

'Why not?'

Harry's whispered words broke the silence like a knife tearing through silk. Ron looked up.

'Why don't I hate you?' Ron paused, trying to phrase his answer. 'I don't… I don't know why not. I'm… hell, Harry, I'm more scared than angry. I…'

'Don't be scared.' Harry interrupted, speaking quickly. 'Don't me. I'm not… I won't let myself do that again. Hurt… hurt anyone… I won't.'

'I'm not scared you'll hurt me,' Ron clarified slowly, forehead creasing as he tried to figure out how to say what he meant to say. 'I'm scared… for you, I guess. Because you… because it hurts you. Because it makes you…'

'Hate myself,' Harry finished, his voice flat. Ron shuddered and nodded, although Harry couldn't have seen; he was still staring at the ceiling.

'Don't hate yourself.' Ron found himself saying, without having even thought it. He struggled to explain. 'Don't. Because… because… you just shouldn't. I _know_ you, Harry. You're a good person at heart, you just… lost it for a minute.'

Harry was silent, then a sharp and strangely humourless smile curled his lips, but not his eyes; his eyes were as hollow and empty as ever. 'Strange. You can forgive me for hurting you, but I can't forgive myself…'

'You should. You must.' Ron begged, feeling on the verge of hysteria. 'Otherwise it'll hurt you, for ages and ages…'

Harry's voice was dusky, dark. 'Maybe I deserve that pain… It's only fair…'

'No!' Ron was surprisingly vehement. 'You only… did that to me for a minute, two at most. That's nothing. You'll be hurting about it for months, because you're too stubborn to forgive anyone, including yourself, and that's not fair. You've suffered enough, Harry, please just don't let this add to everything.  You don't need any more pain, you've got enough.  I forgive you.  You have to... you have to … forgive yourself.' Ron came to the end of his speech and found himself almost wondering what he'd just said; certainly he had ranted too much…

'I'll try.' Harry cut in, taking a breath that sounded painful. 'I'll try… because you want me to. But it won't be easy. I might not be able to…'

'You will. You can.' Ron said firmly his knuckles white, as his fingers clenched the edges of his seat tightly.. 'It'll take some time, but… you will. And… Friends again?'

Harry seemed to pause, as if not understanding the question, then he turned towards Ron and leant on one elbow – looking at his friend for the first time in that conversation – and smiled, a real smile, not yet strong, or free from pain, but warm and genuine. It made Ron smile back, in a rush of joy – it proved that Harry was okay. 'Friends.' Harry said definitely, before letting himself fall back into his pillows, his attitude no longer rigid and tense but relaxed and normal, his eyes closed. 'Friends.'

Ron felt like something that had been curled horribly inside him for the past days had suddenly disappeared.  He knew that the issue wasn't gone entirely, it probably never would be, but it had been tackled, and they were going to be alright.  He grinned, and changed the subject. 

They discussed the latest events with Hermione and Draco for five minutes: trading their best Malfoy insults for the majority of it - it was doubtful Hermione would appreciate them anymore. Neither of them liked the development much, but they agreed that as Hermione ought to be trusted they'd give Malfoy a trial, and wait to see whether he'd actually be decent or whether something more sinister was going on before doing anything. Then Madam Pomfrey came, telling them that their time was up.

Ron left with a grin and a promise to return tomorrow.

~*~

The corridors were filled with students, in clumps of twos and threes, making their way down to breakfast on the bright, cold Monday morning. The general air was one of rejoicing, which even the prospect of lessons couldn't diminish; not so soon after their escape from Voldemort's clutches. Laughter rang out around every corner, as the students joked and chattered.

Where people weren't laughing, they were whispering, passing on the latest rumour, discussing it in such detail and at such length that the whole school buzzed with the news. Half the students didn't believe it. After all, Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger? Pureblood Slytherin and Muggleborn Gryffindor? Together? It couldn't be – but why, said the others, were there all these rumours then? Surely there wouldn't be such a vast range of rumours – some ridiculous, some plausible – if there wasn't some truth in it somewhere…

The rumours were many and varied. 'Malfoy and Hermione were kissing in the Library. No, I heard it was more than that… and not just in the Library, the Astronomy Tower too! Do you think they're in love? Yes, no, maybe… I think that Malfoy raped Hermione and got her pregnant, so they're pretending they're in love for the baby's sake. You think? Maybe she is pregnant, but not by rape… No, Hermione's too sensible to get pregnant. Probably none of it's true…  I bet Hermione's gone over to You-Know-Who's side. What? Rubbish!'

Draco Malfoy, leaning casually against a pillar just outside the Great Hall, found himself rather amused by the wild rumours. He didn't mind them; on the contrary, he found them entertaining. Of course; he and Hermione had decided that the whole school should know, that they shouldn't make a secret of it. Which was bound to cause controversy and rumours, neither of which were that bad. So he resigned himself to maintaining his casual stance against the pillar, listening into the hisses and whispers with an amused quirk at one corner of his mouth.

Most were simply comical - Hermione joining Voldemort, for example. He tried to conjure up the image of Hermione torturing someone at wandpoint, a Dark Mark on her arm and a sadistic glitter in her eyes, and despite the horror of the image he had to snort. It was like imagining Voldemort kissing babies and giving money to charity.

A group of Hufflepuff second years walked past, staring at him with a whisper of, 'Look – it's him!' Draco arched an eyebrow at them and turned his eyes back to the stairs, ignoring the Hufflepuffs as they shuffled past him into the Hall. He wondered why she was taking so long coming…

And at last, there she was: Hermione, rounding the curve of the stairs, one hand resting lightly on the rail. In front of her, turning his head to share a comment with his friends, was Weas– Ron, Draco reminded himself.  And behind Hermione… that would be the reason for her lateness; Harry Potter was trailing down the stairs, hands in pockets and slouched gloomily. Perhaps he and Ron were still fighting? But no – Hermione didn't look sad in any way, and Draco's observant eyes noted the worried glance Ron gave to Harry, the quirk at Harry's lips that turned into a hopeful, wan smile. Friends again, then, but something was still wrong.

The trio reached the bottom of the stairs and turned to cross the floor to the doors of the Great Hall. Draco saw Hermione's eyes quickly scan the room, looking, until they came to meet his own gaze. Their eyes fixed for a moment; Draco felt his lips curve a little, and Hermione's mirrored the movement.

She turned to Harry and Ron, and spoke: her voice was distant and hard to hear, but he could make it out. 'You two wait here a minute, would you? Draco and I… we're going to go in together.'

Here the boys glanced up, and frowned when they saw Draco, who simply gave them a polite smile and a nod. They turned back to Hermione frowning. 'Are you sure about this?' asked Harry quietly, running a hand through his hair and shooting a quick suspicious glance at Draco.

'Positive,' she replied, giving them both a bright smile. 'Just give us a minute, alright?'

Harry and Ron's misgivings were obvious on their faces as Hermione turned away, but Draco wasn't paying attention to them, he was focused on her. On Hermione, who was walking towards him, beaming happily

'Hi,' she said, coming to stand beside him. 'Have you heard the rumours?'

'How could I miss them?' Draco pointed out. 'My favourite is the one where you've joined Voldemort, for the sheer hilarity value.'

She snorted. 'I hate that one. The one where we've been secretly meeting for years after falling in love in a tragic Romeo and Juliet style's quite funny, though…'

'You would like that one.' Draco said with a trace of disgust in his voice. 'Can you imagine me as a Romeo? He was a complete Gryffindor-esque idiot. No cunning, no tact, completely reckless…'

'Hey,' she chided him, scowling playfully 'That's my house you're talking about, remember.'

'Believe me, Hermione, I only carry on because if I didn't, pigs would sprout wings and fly away, causing havoc to the agricultural industry and major economical decline, not to mention damning the world to the terrible tragedy of no more bacon or pork sausages ever. It is for the breakfasting habits of millions of Britons that I continue to be an insulting, annoying git, however much it pains me to do so.'

Hermione, to her credit, did try very hard not to laugh out loud, but it was impossible and she ended up spluttering into her hand. 'Draco! Honestly, you're completely incorrigible…' she told him firmly, once she'd gotten her breath back. Draco simply grinned.

'I know,' he informed her, and then changed the subject. 'I see those two have made up?' he remarked, with a glance in Ron and Harry's direction. They were standing, rather awkwardly, in the middle of the hall, talking about something and barely moving their eyes from the corner in which Draco and Hermione stood.

'Yes. Ron went to talk to Harry last night, and it's all sorted out. I think it's still a little awkward between them, but…' Hermione shrugged.

'What happened?' asked Draco. 'Do you know?'

'Yes…' Hermione admitted, adding. 'But I don't think I should tell you… Oh, don't look like that,' she told him, seeing his look of reproach, 'it's not because it's you, it's because Harry would probably hate me forever if you knew. It'd be kind of like…' – she dropped her voice – 'me telling them about you and… and Ceros…'

He paused a moment, a breath caught in his throat, then nodded. 'Alright. I won't ask…'

'Thanks.' Hermione smiled, a happy, warm smile, and without another word wrapped her arms around him, bending her head a little to rest on his chest. It surprised Draco for a moment, but then he willingly returned it, tangling one hand in her hair, the other at her waist. It felt… so strange, but so natural as well. How long had it been? Only days, though it felt like forever. 

And even if it felt strange and unusual, insane even to be feeling these things, doing these things, it didn't matter, because it also felt right. And he realised: in the end, that was all that mattered.

She looked up at him, smiling, and spoke, 'Should we go in now?'

'Of course.' he agreed, and with Ron and Harry following behind, he and Hermione walked through the door, hand in hand, to face the reactions of the students, the teachers, and ultimately, perhaps the world. Together.

~*~

THE END 

~*~

**A/N:** So there you go: that was it. Time to take my final bows, thank you all for reading, and remind you as I step off the stage; for the final time, REVIEW!


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